The Game of Gods
by Tare-Bear
Summary: "We stand at the heart of change." Very AU. OOC.
1. Chapter One

_**Disclaimer: All Hunger Games characters are the property of Suzanne Collins. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended. Nothing is mine and I disclaim all of it.**_

A/N: Different. Yes. I decided that I was tackling this story backwards. Don't worry. It's still the same story, just mixed around in what past is present or what the future might be. You'll recognize one scene near the end. Tell me what you think. -Taryn

* * *

Chapter One

**Mesopotamia, Western Greece**

Troy fell when my sixth forefather was a youth, and thus consequently I had only ever known Trojans as slaves. Defeated, despondent people who I noticed merely as obedient drudges creeping about the palace. I paid them little attention; they were slaves after all, and I was the revered sister to princess Primrose–the only legitimate child to the King of Mesopotamia, Pandrasus–moreover, they were but just the sorry remnants of a people who had caused my fellow Greeks much trouble and sorrow.

It is not so much that I despised them, for I did not, it was just that they were people who caused their own misfortune–back when they had taken Helen to their great city and brought upon the long, brutal war–and thus needed not to have pity, nor sorrow, and certainly no hatred wasted upon them.

So I paid them no regard. I spoke to them only to speak a request (and hardly that for Frona, my nurse and companion through my childhood and even now, as I am eighteen, was usually the one who fulfilled those wants) and I occasionally nodded absently at one or another as they preformed me a particular service in general. That was my entire limit of involvement and understanding with the Trojans–they were constantly about me, but invisible to my oblivious eyes.

In fact my eyes were constantly lingering on only one person in particular. Prim.

The only reason I lived within the palace was because when Primrose had been claimed by Pandrasus as his heir and he had taken her from my mother–who was merely a breeding tool–I was taken as well, at my little sister's crying insistence.

I am not of royal blood, my father was a Greek merchant; dark haired and of olive skin.

Primrose was my opposite; some spoke of her oddity, a Dorian with blonde hair and startling blue eyes. But no one doubted her beauty, and her kindness, and her royal quality. One day she would rule Mesopotamia, aside a husband, and I had no doubt in my mind that I would be there standing at her side to offer my aid.

Mesopotamia was not a particularly notable city, I grant you, but it was important and rich enough, and was one of the very few survivors of the Catastrophe that had rocked our world for the preceding six or seven generations. Other cities may have succumbed to conflagration and earth tremors, or to the swords and hate of the tribes who took advantage of the turmoil in the Aegean world to invade, but Mesopotamia continued as if charmed, serene and safe on its tranquil bay on the northwestern coast of mainland Greece.

There was only little contact with the outside world, and I existed virtually unaware of even that small degree of contact; I could not deny how little I belonged in a palace, I was used to the life of a child who lived in the back of a whore house, watching my mother ghost by day after day. There was Prim's father, who adored her, and there were the joys and pleasures of her father's court from which she rarely strayed, which meant I would not either. Why should I have? Her father's palace contained everything I could have wanted. Everything was mine for the asking, for Primrose to have: rare fabrics from the far east, the most tempting of morsels from the kitchens, jewels as she wanted for her neck and arms, the admiration and attendance of all who beheld my sister.

The last began to amuse her more and more, particularly once she passed her fourteenth birthday and became a woman. I would try to dissuade it, but she had eyes on her cousin, Rory, and no matter how hard I tried she would not be putout. I could not order her to stop; and I wouldn't, being rough with Primrose was like beating a butterfly only for the fun of it. She was her father's heir, and whoever bedded and wedded her had not only her undoubted physical charms to enthrall him, but the throne as well. That meant deceit and power hungry men on the prowl. I had to protect her from it, yet she made that so difficult. She taunted her male admirers, naturally.

When her father held court in his megaron, every man who had a desire for the throne (and that was most of them) allowed his eyes to stray to my sister. At my place, nearer the back of the room, pushed aside, beside all the city's generals, I had to clench my fists and bite into my cheek in order to restrain myself from slapping the men across their faces. Prim would smile, in general greeting, and straighten her shoulders, perking up at the thought of conversation, unintentionally allowing them a full view of her breasts.

We followed the old Minoan fashion here in Mesopotamia (one of the king's foremothers much removed had come from Crete, I believe, bringing the fashion with her), and all noble unmarried girls displayed their breasts above their tight-waisted flounced skirts and between the flaring stiffened lapels of their heavily embroidered jackets. Modesty wasn't something people treasured in Mesopotamia. Most everyone would see a naked figure in passing or full view everyday; but I was odd that way. I preferred my fully closed jackets and my long skirts; the usual fashions of a Dorian woman, unmarried or not.

Primrose never was one who saw the more menacing sides of things. Nakedness to her was just that; bareness. She did not know that every man that laid eyes on her immediately thought of the bedroom, and those things men and women do together. Yet, all the while, they lusted for her, and she tantalized them by chance, what sorry creatures those men were. She teased and she was flaunted by the courts fashion sense, but it was done only by trivial ignorance. She had already secretly chosen her husband–having only confided in me–and in the coming winter of her fifteenth year she fully intended to drive Rory to such distraction that he would not hesitate to take her virginity the instant she offered it to him. She whispered to me late at night her cleverly thought out plan: afterward, the two of them could use her swelling belly to persuade her father that Rory was a good enough catch for her (it was irksome that he was but a second son, for I knew her father would despise that… but she was _sure_, painfully, ignorantly, sure, that if she was caught with child, then her father would be so delighted he would deny her nothing).

Aside my obvious reluctance to allow Primrose to do something like that, I approved of Rory. Her cousins were close to the king, though his brother, Prim's uncle, was dead, it was the eldest cousin, Gale, who had taken his place as the city's main general, protecting it day in and out.

More than once, I had caught Gale making offers to take me off the king's hands. Each time I would flush with indignation and make sure the next time I saw him I would ignore him. If I didn't the king might think I would receive him; not that Gale was unpleasant (he was rather handsome, actually) but it had more to do with the fact that marrying him meant leaving palace life, leaving Primrose, the only person I ever truly cared about. The person who with her tears and pleas, pulled me away from the life of whore houses and drinking and laying on my back to make a living. A person I owed so much to; and I hate owing people. I was sure I could not leave her. That I would never allow any man to take me away from her, not even Gale.

Little had I known, that come Primrose's fifteenth birthday, what I would later recognize as the Hunger Game's curse reached out and overwhelmed me, and the Catastrophe finally, calamitously, lay waste to my entire life.

* * *

Primrose sifted slightly, turning her shoulder just so, the movement causing her breasts to catch the morning light as it flooded through the windows of the megaron. About the room I saw others pivot to notice that action as well. I scowled and I felt Gale shift in his position next to me; he was smiling at me. I turned away, my thoughts too focused on worry of my little sister.

Early today, as I was rising from my bed, Primrose confessed to me that today was _the_ day. The day she seduced Rory and made certain of her marriage. Despite my disapproval, she had told me she knew what she was doing; and yet, I'd been live-wired all morning. Something in the air that day tasted foul.

The day, would not be a good one. Some deep, chilling foreboding was swimming deep in my bones, warning me, and I knew it had to do with Primrose.

She had dressed carefully that morning, donning the stiffest and thickest of her flounced ankle-length skirts, knowing that their swaying as she moved drew the eye to her hips. I had begged her nurse, Tavia, to leave her well covered, but Primrose overrided me, and had the nurse tighten the wide embroidered girdle that extra notch so that her waist narrowed to the span of a man's hands. And above the narrow waist and her sweeping flounced skirts she donned the very best of her jackets; its stiffened emerald linen fitting tightly to her form. Only its bottom two laces were tied, leaving the rest of the jacket open to frame her breasts, as she was allowed to do as an unmarried woman. Her light hair was left to curl and drape over her shoulders most becomingly.

She looked her absolute best that morning and, from the admiring glances that fell her way, I knew it would not be long for trouble to weed its way into our midst. Every man in the megaron who saw her lusted for her; she was the only female figure that seemed to ghost about the court, half-dressed, always smiling, a key to riches and power. Even her own father, I think, for I saw the tip of his tongue moisten his lips as his eyes lingered on her breasts. It was not unknown for a king to take his own daughter to wife, especially when she was his only heir, but if her father had thoughts in that direction, then I should shortly have to disabuse him of them. Primrose deserved happiness, not abuse, not to be used by men as my mother and her mother endured; Prim saved me from my drudge life and I was determined to do the same for her. It was the only way I could see to pay her back.

I was not oblivious to the hopeful glances Prim sent Rory's way. Eight paces away, Rory's mouth lifted in a knowing smile as he beheld her, and he shifted, aroused. He would be hers within the night. I knew it. She knew; for I saw her relax, slipping away from the provocative pose.

I only stood straighter. Gale chuckled softly at my side. "Give her some leash," he said.

"She's not a dog," I snapped right back. "She has no leash."

"I hear you don't even let her stray beyond the kitchens passed dusk."

"You are not the man I thought you were if you listen to that woman's gossip," I said.

Gale's smile dimmed somewhat, but his grey eyes remained bright in his tanned face. He liked bantering, especially if it was his pride called into question. "Clearly you do not know the difference between gossip and truth." I opened my mouth to reply, turning my eyes to him, instead of my sister, for the first time, but he beat me to speaking. "When was the last time _you_ left the palace, Katniss?"

I snapped my mouth shut, crossed my arms over my chest, and lifted my chin away from him. Indicating with a hand gesture, I told him to be silent, as a messenger approached the king, a letter held out for receiving. Gale grew instantly attentive.

We watched slowly, as the king's face twisted from interest into offense and Gale put a hand on his sword at his hip. Readying to do what? Kill the messenger for delivering such an appalling letter? I shudder, then repress a small jump, at the king's loud exclamation; "What is this?"

Primrose did flinch. So startled out of her own thoughts she was that she nearly slipped right off her throne. I looked to make sure she wouldn't, before I turned back to her father, Pandrasus. He stood before his throne on the raised dais of the megaron, one of his legs thrust back as if to retain contact with his golden seat, a piece of somewhat tatty parchment in his hand. His shoulders were back, and stiff, as if in affront. His belly was thrust forward, as if in challenge, and his face was flushed, his eyes bright, as if in outraged anger.

He looked magnificent–all the women in the chamber must have been set a-trembling, and even the men might have felt a touch of unease, but I managed to turn my mind away from the king's undoubted regal power.

Prim's father shouted again: _"What is this?"_

Several servants cowered before the king, falling to their knees, and the soldiers about the walls of the megaron had stiffened, hands to their swords as Gale was.

Her father waved the parchment about, still shouting. I had no idea what it contained, but it was undoubtedly the reason he had summoned his court early this day. I hoped it would not detain us long, so that I could reel Prim in before she had a chance to try out anything with Rory.

I glanced again at my sister, and I saw that she had eyes for no one else but him, and the linen of his waistcloth bulged most promisingly. Perhaps he would need to...

"Listen!" the king commanded, and began to read.

"'I, Peeta, leader of all those who survived the fall of Troy, send greetings to Pandrasus, king of the Dorian Greeks in Mesopotamia. I am come to demand that you immediately free all Trojans from your slavery, for I find it intolerable that you should treat them in any way other than that which their nobility demands. Be moved to pity them, and bestow upon them their former liberty and grant them permission to live wheresoever they please. Furthermore, as example of your grand benefice, I demand that you shall also grant your former slaves the means to remove themselves from Mesopotamia... five score of ships, well stocked with food, water, wine, and cattle, that they might begin their new lives far away from here in grand manner. I await your decision in the forests to the east of Mesopotamia, knowing that you will do what is best for your people, and your own greatness.'"

The king finished the detestable letter, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. "I have heard of this Peeta!" he said. "Primrose, shall I tell the court of what I know?"

Everyone looked to the princess, seated to the left of him, her throne a few notches behind and below his. In her eyes I caught a glimpse of surprise (she was not often directly acknowledged, especially when it came to courtly matters) but she was quick to compose herself. "Of course," she said. "Unless what you know is unseemly."

"Oh, it is unseemly enough, but I think you should hear it."

I had never heard of this Peeta, so I was somewhat interested now. We'd had those Trojan slaves for hundreds of years and no one bothered to care about them; and now we had someone claiming himself their leader?

"A Trojan," the king continued, and I would have dismissed Peeta from my care instantly save that he had so impudently demanded such nonsense from our king. From the tone of his communication, one could almost have believed that Peeta thought himself an equal of Prim's father. It was laughable. Ridiculous! I found it difficult to believe that a Trojan had found the temerity to write thus to Mesopotamia's king. He must suffer from a malaise of the mind. I shivered at the thought of how Prim's father would deal with him; or more accurately, Gale.

"A Trojan," the king said again, his voice venomous, and he spat on the gleaming floor of the megaron. The phlegm sat there, glistening in the sun as it streamed through the windows, a fitting response to this man's slur. "He is an exile, even from his own people," the king continued. "He tore his mother apart in childbirth and then, when he was a youth of fifteen, slew his father with a 'misplaced' arrow. He is a man who has murdered his parents, who is condemned, even by the Trojans" –he spoke the word as an insult– "and now, having come to disturb my peace, he thinks to demand I set my slaves free! Ah!"

One of Gale's friend's, the king's adviser, a man by the name of Sarpedon who was known for the prudence of his advice, stepped forward and raised his head as if seeking permission to speak, but Prim's father waved him back to his place.

"Primrose, beloved," the king said, holding out the parchment to her. "You are my daughter and my heir. What would your answer be to this man?"

I shook my head, this would not be good.

Prim's eyes were wide as she moved herself from her throne. About the room people admired her; the mighty Pandrasus, asked her for advice when he had waved Sarpedon back. How he must admire her to do such a thing.

She walked forward, her steps springing with her nervousness, unknowing of how pleasingly such movement would make the loosely bound curls and her ivory breasts sway and catch the sun. With a meek hand she took the parchment from her father.

She did not read it.

"He is ridiculous," Prim said, and tore the parchment into two, then two again, and then even again, until the thing lay scattered about the floor in tiny pieces. "He cannot know of your greatness to send such a thing. Do not our laws state that such disrespect should be rewarded only with death?"

Her father laughed, proud of her. "Well said, daughter. Shall I kill him for his impudence then?"

Only I saw the gleam of wilting in Prim's eyes as she nodded obedience to the king. She knew what he wanted to hear; not what she really thought. "Indeed, Father. You are too mighty to let such impudence pass unheeded."

And, oh, Hera, how I wished in the weeks and months to come that I had stepped forward and spoke against her. Such thoughtlessness on my part, and hers, and the kings. Was Prim to blame for what ensued? Or should I blame myself for not taking that stupid piece of parchment seriously?

"As my daughter wishes! There shall be a slaughter so great that when next you bathe it may be in Trojan blood!" The king laughed again, hearty and confident. "Gale!" he called to his brother's eldest son. "Set the trumpets a-blowing and the archers a-racing to their chariots! We shall go a-hunting this morning!"

I watched Gale motion the other generals to him and, surprisingly, instead of pushing me out of their gathering, they left me to my space at Gale's left. I could not help listening to their talk of war. What they planned to happen. Traps Gale would set up just beyond the city walls. Where the archers would be placed according to the Trojan leader's position.

I was so enthralled with that one moment, that I forgot that I should have had both eyes on my sister.

When I had recalled what my little sister planned for that day I started and turned away from the circle of men, eyes seeking the familiar head of blonde hair. There were little people left in the megaron and I instantly walked toward the nearest exit, hands twisted into my skirts, holding the fabrics up to free my booted feet.

I raced to her bedchambers only to find her nurse waiting in there, equally worried. I cursed foully, and many of the servants and soldiers, bustling about in preparation of the battle, threw me uncertain glances. I knew what they thought of the dark haired, grey eyed, sister of the princess; bold, too loud, and bullheaded.

After checking Rory's rooms and all his family's, I came up frustratedly empty handed. Where would they go? _Where?_ I thought to myself, pacing a palace corridor. That's when I heard Prim's laughter, coming from slightly afar, leading me to a small storeroom. The door was closed, and, presumably by the sound of clatter inside, I was a bit too late.

I stood there, blankly for several disorienting moments, when I felt someone shove passed me and reach for the door. Prim's nurse, Tavia, ripped open the storeroom door, revealing to me a sight I never wanted to witness. I turned away the instant I caught an eyeful of Prim, lifted against the wall, legs wrapped around Rory's waist.

"Princess!" Tavia wailed, and I heard Prim's gasp of pain as Rory dropped her, her own weight pulling the two awkwardly to the stone floor. They fumbled apart, hands quickly working to right their clothes, but Tavia paid this no more mind as she ran over to Primrose, patting incoherently at her face and hands and sobbing something unintelligible.

I managed to gather my head and moved my feet, surreptitiously trying to avoid acknowledging the presence of Rory in the least. I pushed the fussing Tavia away from Prim, steadied my sister and righted her skirts before I pulled her by the arm out of the storeroom. I felt more than saw her turn her head to share some sort of look with Rory; whether they completed their act of rebellion, I wouldn't want to know, I only propelled my sister faster from the room until we reached her bedchamber.

Once inside I turned to her and she numbly stared at a point beyond my shoulder. I tried to level my voice, but it was rasped if not waspish. "So. Was it worth it?" I asked her.

Prim's blues eyes found mine and she smiled, thinly. "I think I want to bathe. But one of the daughters from court said that it could effect the chance of pregna–"

I shook my head, making her voice come to a halt. "You are a silly girl. You think yourself ready for a baby, but you do not even know the truth from falseness when it comes from the mouth of a pampered child." I sighed at her naivety and cupped her face in my hands. "I'll go retrieve Tavia and you can have that bath, as long as you promise me when I return, you'll still be in this room."

"Promise," Prim chimed and I kissed her forehead, then departed.

By the time she was washed and changed, she was bright and bubbly again, no longer demure and thoughtful. I pulled her to our shared bed and she whispered to me her secrets as she always did. She told me what happened with Rory. What she feared and what her dreams were. She couldn't wait to know for sure when she was with child; she wanted me to tell her the moment I'd noticed symptoms. Primrose confessed she wished she'd made love with Rory sooner, that way when Rory had returned victorious from battle, she could tell him the news and double his joy.

I nodded and agreed and stayed silent, stroking her hair, when necessary. But when she was half asleep, murmuring the last part, I was reminded of the letter the king received today. That cold, soul tugging foreboding returned to my mind at the name Peeta, roiling around in my thoughts, as though storm clouds come to rain on my mind.

"Gods help Gale, for a man who seeks to claim himself the Trojan's saviors," I whispered into Prim's hair before, I, too, gave into the pull of sleep.

* * *

Peeta moved cautiously across the slope of the hill, ducking behind the trunks of the thick beech, elm, and oak trees and the occasional outcrop of limestone rock that had erupted forth from the earth.

All about him, hidden within shadows and behind trees, stood still, silent men armed with swords, daggers, and lances, their bodies protected with hardened leather corsets, greaves, and helmets. Small circular shields were slung across their backs, ready to be pulled about and used at a moment's notice. Their faces, as any reflective surface on their bodies or armor, were dulled with dirt.

Across the way, another few slopes rose, a gorge between them. Warriors similarly lined the shadowy spaces of the forest on the other side. There were almost eight hundred all told; this included the men Peeta was expecting Mesopotamia to send.

He smiled at a nearby fighter and they tugged their lips uncertainly in reply. "What do you think," Peeta whispered. "A fine day for victory?"

"The best," the man replied.

"And the perfect place," commented another mud-clad Trojan. "They shall charge into the gorge and we will have them trapped."

Peeta nodded absently. That had been the plan all along, though a small piece of him had hoped the king would see reason. That was of no matter. He had to do this. Freeing his people seemed like the only thing he could do to redeem himself. And if anyone could do it, it was him.

Between the two slopes of the gorge gurgled a shallow river. Its clear waters slipped over the sand and gravel of its bed as if it had not a care in creation, and yet, watching, some of the waiting warriors wondered how that could be, given that surely the Acheron's waters carried within them the moans of warriors long dead and trapped by Hades. Even if not contemplating the waters that flowed from Hades' realm, every one of the silent warriors was tense with the waiting.

Surely Pandrasus would not ignore Peeta's taunting letter? Surely he must soon issue forth from his citadel?

"He will not ride up this gorge." Marvel slid on his haunches down the slope to join Peeta. "He will know it is a trap. Pandrasus may be many things, but he is not stupid; he will have his brother's son, Gale, with him, a tried and true general."

"He will come," Peeta said, knowing the doubts that riddled Marvel. The man had chanced everything on Peeta's plan to come here. "They both will. And they will both slip into the trap."

_What trap? _Marvel wondered. _We have the advantage of height, to be sure, but the floor of the gorge is flat, and wide, and Pandrasus and Gale will have their chariots filled with archers. Moreover, who is trapped?_

Not a hundred paces farther into the gorge the river sank into a sheer face of rock, descending into Hades' realm, and if Pandrasus blocked the entry to the gorge, then Peeta's and Marvel's men were dead, trapped here for Pandrasus' army to pick off at their leisure.

Marvel had left Mesopotamia's noble housing only yesterday at the calling of Peeta, the only remaining Trojan power in all of world, to anyone's knowledge. True, he'd been kicked out of his own country, but behind him he had a formidable group of companions; who had been with him every year of exile. In truth, Marvel had only agreed to help Peeta free the Trojan slaves–in turn betraying his king–because his mother used to be a Trojan and Peeta promised the riches of the city would be his to keep, as Peeta did not plan on staying long.

"Peeta–" Marvel began, his nerve finally failing as he realized he wanted to be anywhere but here (riches or no) and then stopped as one of the forward scouts waved a coded message.

"They're coming," Peeta said and signaled the men on both sides of the gorge to move slowly down the slopes to prearranged locations. He moved his head so he could stare Marvel full in the face. "It is too late to change our plan now, my friend."

* * *

Gale rode in the lead of sixty-five chariots. He clung to the handrail, his feet firm against the stiffened leather-and-wood deck, bracing his body against the lurching, jolting movement of the transport.

Beside him the charioteer hung on to the reins of the team of three horses, his shoulders bunched against the strain, his eyes narrowed in concentration, keeping the horses to a slow trot, even though they wanted to race.

On either side of Gale chariots fanned out, archers braced beside the charioteers, their quivers of arrows tied firmly before them to the front walls of the chariots. Behind this forward wave came Pandrasus, the king, his uncle, leading the second wave of some fifty chariots. And behind this came almost a thousand men, jogging easily, their shields across their backs, swords sheathed, helmets firmly placed, minds and hearts set on proving their own glory against the descendants of the Trojans their forefathers had defeated.

Among them jogged Rory, desperately trying to keep the grin from his face. Gale had attempted to deny him the fight, in worry for his younger brother, but he could not for Rory was fully sixteen, a man by any standards; and Rory would not allow himself to be left behind within mother's skirts.

From the gates of Mesopotamia they had turned to the wide road that led east along the banks of the Acheron river. Two thousand paces from the city the road began to narrow and then climb, slowly at first, but then more steadily, and Gale waved the forward movement of the army back to a more sedate walk: no point in having his fighters arrive breathless.

The ground rose to either side of the river, thickly wooded, and Gale peered closely at it, not wanting to be surprised by a sudden attack from the trees.

Nothing. The day was as still as a grave.

Gale put up his hand, halting the column.

Before him the Acheron issued forth from a gorge, the floor wide and easy to maneuver in to be sure, but still a good place for a trap. If he were Peeta, this would be where he would set it. There was movement behind him, and Gale turned.

Pandrasus, directing his chariot forward to view for himself.

"They must be in there," Gale said to his uncle, the king.

"The fool said he'd wait in the eastern forests. But where? Would we be better riding in, or sending the infantry?" Pandrasus grinned. "They think themselves cunning, but perhaps they have outmaneuvered themselves. We leave a squad of chariot here, should they think to come running out toward us, and the other chariots, and all the infantry, we divide into two forces and take the back tracks behind the hills. They surely have not the numbers to cover both the gorge and the back paths–even if they know they're there. Then we come on them from above with both arrows and swords."

"They are trapped. They cannot escape this gorge from the other end, for the mountains are too steep, and we have this single escape plugged," the man driving the chariot agreed.

Gale began to eye the trees again, as Pandrasus said, "They are truly a worthless foe," swiveling where he stood in the chariot to give the signal for the men to break into two groups and climb the paths behind the Trojans.

"Wait!" said Gale in a most peculiar voice.

* * *

"They will not come," Marvel said to Peeta, staring with squinted eyes down the distance of the gorge to where the Dorian and Greek army stood. "They are not that foolish. Look! Even now the king turns to give the signal that will see us dead!"

But Peeta did not respond.

Marvel turned to him, and gasped.

There was a woman now standing beside the crouched Peeta, a bow and a quiver of arrows across her back, her hand on his shoulder, and she was surely no mortal woman.

She turned her head toward Marvel, and bared her teeth, and her face was as that of death.

* * *

"Wait," Gale said again, his voice slow, lazy, seeming almost drugged. "I think we have been mistaken, uncle. See? This is no gorge, not at all, but a flat field, newly harvested of barley. Even a mouse cannot hide among that stubble."

Pandrasus looked, not understanding, then blinked.

How could they have been so mistaken as to have seen a gorge before them? There were no mountains, no forests, no river. Instead there lay before them a flat stubbled field, and see! There lay the Trojans, unprepared, sitting about campfires drinking cups of unwatered wine! These fools could be overcome with a squad of toddlers wielding nothing but their bone teething rings.

"Ride!" whispered Pandrasus. Then, screaming, "Ride! Run! Mow them down!"

* * *

There was a sudden thunder of hooves, then a roar of voices, and Marvel jerked his head back to where the Dorian and Greek army now rode and ran unhesitatingly into the gorge. They splashed through the shallows of the Acheron, some tripping over in their haste, their comrades behind them treading on their backs in their haste to propel themselves forward.

The chariots came first, leading the charge, then hardly a breath behind them came the infantry, swords and lances raised to shoulder height, faces screwed up in battle lust.

"Pandrasus! Pandrasus!" they screamed.

"Peeta," Marvel whispered, overcome.

"Wait," Peeta said, and beside him the strange goddess tightened her hold on his shoulder.

* * *

Gale found himself screaming with the men, screaming in blood-lust and triumph. He pounded the back of his charioteer, urging him forward, forward, forward, while to his right Pandrasus did likewise.

None of the men saw anything save what the goddess had put before their eyes.

* * *

"Wait," Peeta whispered again.

Marvel could not tear his eyes away from the Mesopotamian troops. They were well into the gorge now, charging as if they had no care in the world, as if all that lay before them was a family of mice who had given themselves to the slaughter.

As the road narrowed deeper into the gorge, most of the men and chariots had been forced into the shallow river where, given the firm surface of the river bottom, they still managed good headway.

_But headway toward what?_ Marvel wondered. Then he gasped, horrified, even though what was happening would win them an almost bloodless victory.

* * *

Suddenly Gale screamed, but this time in equal parts outrage and bewilderment. He reeled backward, too late. There was no stubbled field! No Trojan army sitting heedless and drunk about campfires!

There was only the steep and densely wooded gorge walls rising to either side of him, and a river underfoot…

…a river underfoot that had abruptly risen to thigh height…no. Waist height. Or was it that the river bottom had given way to the treacherous quicksand of the marshes? Were the men, the chariots, sinking into the very heart of Hades' realm itself? Gale could not find his level head he treasured so much.

"Uncle!" he screamed to Pandrasus who was riding in one of the few chariots still on the solid banks of the river. "Save yourself! Get yourself and as many as you can back to Mesopotamia! Find _Rory_!"

* * *

"We move," Peeta said, and stood, waving his left hand in signal.

Marvel glanced at him. The goddess was gone now, and Peeta was grinning at him with a strange light in his eyes. "Will you be staying then, comrade?"

* * *

It was a slaughter. Gale's archers managed to get off some arrows but they were soon overwhelmed by the Trojans on foot–who, graced by the gods–walked across the river as if its waters were solid rock.

What men of his that had not succumbed completely to the unrelenting riverbed were all but trapped to their hips, unable to do more than parry a few blows with their swords, or jab uselessly with their lances.

"Gale!" came the desperate cry, and Gale turned in horror.

There, only a few paces away, was Rory. Another warrior, an old friend of Gale's, Thom, had gained purchase on a sinking chariot, and had dragged Rory to a momentary safety. Both were covered in the slime of the river, their weapons gone, their faces crumpled in horror, their eyes shining at Gale in a frightful hope that somehow he would save them.

Gale gave a wordless cry and stretched out a useless hand even as his own chariot lurched, its horses shrieking, and began to sink.

* * *

The Trojans, augmented by the men of Mesopotamia that Marvel managed to get to betray their king, surged into and among the trapped army. It was as if they were once again in their youth and on the practice field, sticking their swords into straw dummies. Some of the men screamed, some pleaded, some swung weapons uselessly. All died.

Marvel fought–if fighting it could be called, slaughtered, more like–at Peeta's side, when he suddenly realized that Pandrasus, together with perhaps five or six chariots and a hundred men, were escaping out of the gorge.

"Peeta!" he cried, grabbing at Peeta's left arm to gain his attention.

Peeta stilled instantly, his sword almost fully unused at his side as he walked among the collide of the two armies. "What is it?" he asked, his voice still strangely calm.

"Pandrasus escapes," Marvel said, staring in horror at the charioteer. "He–"

Peeta leaned back, twisting his sword in his hands, catching the sunlight on its perfectly unblooded blade. Marvel jerked his own sword from the neck of a charioteer. The man's head rocked, and Marvel realized, sickeningly, that the charioteer's hands were the only thing holding his head on. Then the hands collapsed nerveless, and the head dropped, splashing into the river. For an instant the body still stood up to its waist in water, and then, gently, almost apologetically, it too sank beneath the waters of the Acheron.

"It is of no matter," Peeta said, and it took Marvel a moment to realize he talked of Pandrasus, not of the dead charioteer.

"We must send men after him! If he manages to lock himself into the city he can hold out for a year, maybe more! The city is well stocked for a siege, and we hardly manned to conduct one! Peeta, you said we need Pandrasus to supply us with ships, and provisions, and…" Marvel slid to a halt, wondering why he was giving this speech when Peeta was grinning at him as if Pandrasus' escape was of no consequence.

"I do not think we shall have much trouble gaining an entry to the city ourselves," Peeta said, then extended his sword to a group of sinking chariots some ten paces away. "Look."

* * *

Gale called out to his brother, a fury stringing itself through his heart for whatever dark trick the Trojans had pulled to confuse himself and the others so much. "Rory! Thom! Gods, I am cursed to have led you to such an inglorious death! Rory hold your chin higher, for the gods' sake!" _I can't lose you in that way_, he thought, then shouted, if only because he knew the river would take him, too, "Don't die, either of you gits!"

"And there is no need for them to do so," said a voice behind Gale, and he whipped about.

A man stood in the river, as if on solid ground, his sword sheathed, holding out his hand for Gale to grasp. He was tall, and solidly built, and beneath his boar's tusk helmet his eyes burned black and fierce amid features clearly Trojan. "There is no need for either you or your companions to die," the man said, and waggled his hand a little in his impatience.

"Peeta," Gale said, his voice flat. "Are you to walk through life as god-favored as your ancestor Aeneas?" And then, as he heard the sound of sucking mud behind him, and Rory called out in horror, Gale dropped his sword into the river, let go his rage, and grasped Peeta's hand.

* * *

Within the hour, no casual passerby could have believed that a battle had recently been fought in the gorge, and that scores of chariots and horses and hundreds of men had been consumed by the river. The Acheron burbled peacefully over its shallow bed, the cool shadows of trees quivered to and fro at the edges of great pools of sunlight, and birds and small animals rustled within the forests that lined the gorge walls.

The only thing that might have indicated a battle were the groups of men who sat cleaning their swords and armor in the patches of sunlight. But, then none of them were wounded, or even out of breath, and they were calm and cheerful, and if they were cleaning swords then that might have been merely because of the damp of the morning dew.

However, if that passerby had stopped, and peered closer, he might have seen that the swords and armor plate being so carefully cleaned were stained with the blood of men, and that, under one tree sat two men and a younger one, all dejected, and all carefully guarded.

Glimmer, who'd watched the battle from high above the gorge, had drifted down to join Peeta, Marvel, and, the last of Peeta's most trusted companions, Cato (a man who had traveled with Peeta nearly everywhere in his exile).

Now the group of four sat under a tree some little distance from Gale and his two companions, Thom and Rory. During the brief battle of the Acheron, Peeta had realized quickly Gale's value–his insignia were clearly those of an important man, and the two younger men he'd been calling out to were just as clearly very dear to him–but it was only in the past minutes that Gale had told him exactly who he'd captured.

"Pandrasus' nephew? And his brother? A best friend, too? Far better than I'd hoped," Glimmer said, noting how the little brother sat close to the older, and how Gale kept a hand on the boy's shoulder, as if trying to offer him both comfort and protection.

"The youngest boy," Cato said. "What do you know of him?"

The question was directed at Marvel, since he was the only one of them that was from Mesopotamia. He was feeling elated about the battle, and how easily Peeta had won. He knew he had made the right choice now and was eager to tell them what he knew. "His name is Rory. The second eldest son of the king's dead brother–"

Peeta nodded his head, as he stared absently into the foliage of the tree above them. "Okay–"

"I wasn't done," Marvel cut in and Peeta dropped his eyes to him. "Rory is also the most beloved of the king's daughter, the sweet Primrose, and he would be the most missed because of that."

"What of the eldest? Gale? Does the king not favor him more?" Peeta asked.

Marvel hesitated before replying. "Aye, I think so. If you'd asked me that fifteen years ago, I would have said the king would have wanted Gale back first, but as his daughter has grown, so the king has grown more devoted to her. He would not risk her tears."

"Would he put her before his people? His city? His top general?"

"Peeta, be careful what you scheme," Cato said, his brow furrowing as he realized what Peeta considered.

"I only do what I must," Peeta said, sharing a brief stare with Glimmer, then walking toward the three prisoners. "Gale!" he said as Gale and his bother stood, wary-eyed. Thom stayed seated, wounded in the knee. "Have my men treated you well? Do you have need for anything I might provide?"

Gale glanced at Thom, but the lumbering man gave his head a dismissive shake. Gale curtly dipped his head in a no to Peeta. "What do you want of us?" he said. His posture was tall and erect, his manner dignified. He'd moved very slightly, placing himself between Peeta and his companions.

Peeta nodded at Gale to acknowledge his words, but spent some moments studying the little brother behind his back. He was a handsome young man, and very obviously well nourished both with food and with love. Considering things, Gale could not be much older than Peeta's own age (of some twenty-three years), and so the younger brother was still a very young man, in a state of terror, which despite how Rory tried, he could not quite hide it behind his cloak of assumed bravado and defiance.

_They were too proud_, Peeta realized. All three of them, too well nourished by their fathers and their society in the belief of their own nobility and invulnerability. This day's fiasco must have come as a considerable shock to them.

Peeta's face remained impassive, but inwardly he regarded the three boys with envy: they were soft and callow youths, served superfluously with their father's love, or a mother's, or even just a brother's — by the gods, had he not been forced from his own country, and denied his heritage by the time he was fifteen? He had not been gifted youth or carelessness.

He heard Glimmer cough behind him and reminded himself why he was here.

Gale, or possibly the king, had made a critical error in allowing these boy-women to ride with his army. Now, both Gale and his companions–and Pandrasus, come to that–were going to have to pay the price of that error.

Peeta's eyes flickered back to Gale, whose stance had stiffened noticeably in that time Peeta had spent studying his brother. "What do I want?" Peeta said. "I want to offer you your lives."

"For what payment?" Gale said. "I am no traitor to my king and my city like Marvel here." He looked like he wanted to spit, but then thought better of it.

"If I had not been so reviled throughout my life for the blood of my Trojan mother, then I might not have turned traitor," Marvel said, not overly perturbed by Gale's scorn.

Gale gave Marvel one more particularly baleful glare, then addressed Peeta once more. "I say again, what payment do you demand for our lives?"

"Only that, in the dead of the night that is to come, you approach the gates of Mesopotamia and call out to the sentries. You shall tell them that you, and the companions who shall be with you, are fellow Dorians and Greeks who escaped the slaughter in this gorge and who have now only just managed to make their way safely back to the city. You shall ask for entry, and, I have no doubt, you shall be granted it. Pandrasus will be glad to see his nephews once more."

"No," Gale said. "There is nothing you can do to make me agree."

"No?" Peeta whispered, and then, in a move so fast that neither Gale nor his companions could thwart him, he seized Rory by the black hair of his head and dragged him away from the two others, to the ground at Peeta's feet.

Gale and Thom started forward, their faces appalled and angry all in one, but a score of Peeta's soldiers moved to halt them.

"No!" Rory cried out fiercely. "I'm willing to die for this."

Peeta's hand tightened his already painful grip in the boy's hair, and twisted his head so sharply that the little brother could barely move. He didn't look at the warrior he held in pain, but stared unwaveringly at Gale's face, who drew in a deep, horrified breath, his grey eyes riveted on his brother.

Behind Gale's back, Peeta caught a glimpse of golden hair catching a stream of sunlight that had fallen through the leaves overhead. Then he saw the glint of a knife's blade as it swung outward, hooked around the older companion's throat and pressed itself into his adam's apple.

Gale whipped around and flinched toward the woman pressing a knife into Thom's neck, but Glimmer raised an eyebrow and he froze, at the threat of one flick of her wrist.

Gale groaned at the intensity of fear in both companion's eyes, despite their will to hide it, and dragged his eyes back to Peeta.

"Will you do as I ask?" Peeta said, very calm, his own gaze steady on Gale.

"I…" Gale was more than torn.

Peeta's hand drew out the sword at his hip, placing the blade hard against Rory's throat. The boy gasped his unease and tried to twist away, succeeding only in opening a shallow cut across his throat. His entire body trembled, then stilled, as he set his teeth and his dark grey eyes stared intently into Gale's, determined, terrified.

Gale hissed his seething. "You wouldn't dare," he finally decide upon saying. "Kill them and then you have nothing save me, and I will never betray my king. You wouldn't dare!"

Around them, all of Peeta's companions, including Marvel, exchanged glances.

"No. He wouldn't," said Glimmer, "But I would." And in one single appalling movement, Glimmer jerked Thom's head back with one hand in his hair and with the other sliced the razor-sharp blade hard across the man's throat. Bright blood fountained across the gap between Gale and his best friend.

Gale started forward with a horrified cry, but the Trojan soldiers grabbed him, as Rory gave his own terrified shout and Peeta tightened his hold on his hair and both of them were held firm as Glimmer let go of Thom's head.

The man grabbed at his throat, his staring eyes on Gale, his mouth in a surprised "O," then collapsed to the ground. He curled up into a fetal position, his hands frantically scrabbling at his throat, his features somehow desperate. Then, as the blood continued to spurt with the strength of his heart's beat, his body fell slowly still.

Glimmer leaned forward, wiped the blood of the blade with Thom's hair, then replaced it into her belt. She smiled brightly at Gale, who looked horror-struck, at the thought of this blonde _woman_, killing the broad shouldered, thick headed best friend he'd had since boyhood.

"You will do as I say," Peeta said.

Gale turned on the Trojan leader, livid, but paused at the sight of Rory still on his knees.

"You will do as I say, or I will take this last hostage and kill him, too, and I will lay both their blood soaked bodies in the dirt before Mesopotamia's gates so that their mothers may see them, and may know that you moved not to save them from the terror of their deaths." At Glimmer's feet, Thom gave one soft, wet sigh, and died. Rory started crying, silently and Gale face twisted in both hatred and anguish. "Is that what you want?" said Peeta softly. He had not once glanced at Thom's dying.

* * *

The three sentries on duty atop Mesopotamia's gates had watched the straggling group of twenty-five or thirty limping, bloodied men approach the gate for some minutes before one of them threw out the verbal challenge.

"Hold! Name yourselves, and your business!"

The group, some ten paces from the gates, came to a stumbling halt, the stragglers at the back taking the opportunity to catch up with the main group. One of the men stepped forward so that the sentries could see his face clearly. "I am Gale, nephew of Pandrasus, escaped finally from the nightmare of the gorge. Can you not see me, and know my face?"

Several paces behind Gale, Glimmer dug the blade of her dagger a little deeper against the neck of Rory. "Be careful what you say!" Peeta hissed at Gale. "And remember, that should you betray me once we gain the city, you also betray the life of your brother!"

Gale's back stiffened, but he gave no other sign that he'd heard Peeta. "General!" the sentry called back, the relief in his voice obvious to all who heard it. "General! We thought you dead!"

Gale made a belittling movement with his hand, earning another hiss from Peeta. "And I thought myself dead, too, but I, with these my comrades" –he indicated the group behind him– "managed to fight our way clear. We hid in the forests for the day, and have only finally found our way back here at this dark hour."

"And the Trojan warriors?" the sentry asked.

"Gone, we think," Gale replied. "We saw no sign of them in the gorge as we made our way back to the city."

"Wait, Lord," called the sentry, "and we shall open the gates for you."

The sentries, unsuspecting, unbolted the inner gates, leaving them standing open, then drew back one of the two massive cypress and bronze-bound outer gates, allowing the small group of men through. But when the two sentries who held the door made to close it, five or six of the stragglers at the rear of the group suddenly lunged at them, planting silent daggers in the sentries' throats, and the men slid to the ground making no more noise than a whispered sigh.

Several of the Trojans pushed the gate closed, but did not bolt it. Others pulled Gale and Rory back toward the gate, keeping knives at their throats as they gagged them with linens torn from the men's own tunics.

"Marvel!" Peeta hissed, and Marvel nodded, threw aside his disguise, and took some twelve men to secure the immediate area and silence any guards on the walls. When his soft whistle told Peeta the guards had been dealt with, Peeta signaled one of the Trojans waiting at the gates. The man opened the gate, slipped outside, and mimicked the soft call of a rock partridge.

Instantly, scores of shapes rose silently from their hiding places behind the vines in the fields to either side of the road leading to the gate, and moved forward.

Peeta turned to Cato, "Find the king's bedchamber. Silence him as best you can, although not permanently, then bring him to the megaron once you send word that the palace is secured. Make sure you gather anyone of rank to the room."

* * *

I slept badly. I tossed and turned, twisting the fine linen of the sheets into sweat-matted ropes, and causing Primrose, already wearied by the king's bad temper in the face of defeat that morning, and the grief that pulled at her heart for the absence of Rory, to slip away from me, deeper into the blankets and hogging them all.

I rolled onto my side, shivering in my nakedness. I kept my eyes closed in a plea for sleep, but my mind was racing for what I had witnessed today within the megaron. The king's appall at what happened in the gorge, though he could not properly tell anyone what happened or why they had charged into the river, was upsetting to the stomach. Anyone could see the fear in his face for this Trojan leader, Peeta, and I hissed to myself, angry, because I too felt a prickle of tears in my eyes at the thought of the unreturned cousins.

All afternoon I had dealt with an inconsolable, sobbing Prim. She kept denying the reality that Rory and Gale wouldn't come back, even though the king seemed sure they were gone. I tried my best to soothe her pain, then eventually, I got her to sleep.

It seemed wrong that Gale did not come back from the battle. Primrose's nurse and mine own had gone about collecting gossip and information for us, which for that I was grateful, but the news they had was grave. The Trojans had tricked Prim's father into a trap, and then used the black arts–as would cowards–to ensnare her father's army in a slaughter. The king escaped, but only because of his heroism and skill, while most others had died.

Gale? Rory? Dead? My mind sorrowed for the thought and Prim's could not grasp that concept, and could not pass beyond that concept. She thought nothing of the greater implications of this defeat, had no thought of the other men I knew that must have died, but only tried without success to grasp the concept that Rory might be dead.

Throughout the day I went out of my way to silence anyone who deemed to blame Prim for this battle's failure. Thankfully, there were only a few who scorned the king for entrusting the decision on his daughter, and the rest blamed it all on that man, Peeta. A coward. A man who used dark magic. Murderer to the sweet Rory and hard Gale.

Primrose stirred in her sleep and her arms found me. I rolled back to her and held her, whispered nothingnesses in her ear, and stroked her brow with my hands, until she was relaxed in dream once more. "Only you," she breathed in dream, sagging into the sheets.

I sighed, recalling what she had vowed in her fit of tears. "_If not you,"_ she had sniveled, blowing her nose on the hem of her skirts, _"then no one. No one save you, beloved Rory, shall ever lay his mouth to mine!"_ Slightly hysterical that vow may have been, it made her feel better. Mistakenly, I'd driven her off of that, begged her to eat and drink (for I had slipped some sleeping syrup into her wine) to maintain her strength through guilt of keeping her promise.

"Shh," I hushed Prim and closed my eyes. I told myself I would wake in the morning and she would be fine, and the grief would not fall so heavily on her heart, and... I drifted to sleep, content that I should pass the night in dreams of better times.

Instead, I dreamed most peculiarly.

I found myself standing in a stone hall, of such construction and such overwhelming beauty that I am sure it was of the gods' making. Above me glowed a golden vaulted roof, to either side of me soared great stone arches that lined the shadowy side aisles of the hall.

At one archway, I could see a countryside, where a majestic silver river wound its way through gentle verdant hills and fertile pastures. It was an ancient and deeply mysterious land, such as I had never seen nor even imagined. Oddly, it felt like my homeland, and yet this was nothing like the hills surrounding Mesopotamia.

I looked back to the hall. There was a sound of laughter, and from the very corner of my eye I saw the figure of a small girl dashing between the stone arches. I was weary all of a sudden. Then a great joy swept over me, that did not feel like mine. I knew, somehow, that there was a man here, in this hall with me, somewhere. A man I loved beyond any other, and he me.

Gale?

I turned a full circle, but I could not see him. I shouted a name, but I could not hear it nor taste it on my tongue, yet I knew it was not Gale's, but the man's whom I loved. I frowned, and looked more carefully, and saw instead two women standing at some distance from me.

One was…one was a tall and elegant woman, while the other was a much smaller and darker woman, mysterious like the land I had glimpsed beyond the arches. The paler woman put her hand on this dark woman's shoulder and bent to her, and spoke in her ear.

Although I could not hear, and certainly not comprehend, I had a sense of a great many words being spoken and, also, most remarkably, a sense of a vast amount of time passing. And then, just as I walked closer, and opened my mouth to speak to them, the smaller dark woman took a step toward me, then another, and then she was rushing at me, and she threw her arms around me in the tightest embrace I'd ever been given by anyone other than Prim.

"Oh, Katniss," said the woman, with much love.

I knew her name somehow, instantly, as though she pushed the knowledge into my head. "Seeder?"

Seeder pulled away, smiled and cupped my face in her hands. "Beloved child," and before I could react, or take a step backward, she kissed me chastely on the lips and her hands on my face turned to smoke.

I ripped myself away one pace, but when I looked up, there was no one standing in front of me. The tall slender woman was gone, as well. I was alone. The hall was empty save for me, and suddenly it seemed a very forsaken place indeed.

The dream was so nasty I woke with a start. I lay a hand on my belly, feeling a warm heaviness in its lower extremity. For a moment, still befuddled by sleep, I wondered if my womanliness throwing its burden upon me, then I realized that could not be as they'd only completed themselves a mere week previous.

I frowned, and thought to rise and pour myself some wine so that I might put the dream from my mind, but just then the door opened and a shape approached the bed.

I thought it must be Tavia, Primrose's nurse, and I was glad, for I would need her to take her turn watching Prim this night, so I might take a walk and clear my head. I opened my mouth to tell her as such, then closed it with a snap.

This wasn't Tavia.

It wasn't even the strange dark woman of my dream.

Nor the pale one.

"Get up!" the shape said, and I realized to my total stupefaction that it was a man.

In the instant between when he spoke and when he strode to the bed I lunged forward and threw the blankets around my waist over Prim's still sleeping form. Thank the gods I'd drugged her for she was still in sleep and the man did not glance beyond my form as he reached for me. Then the man, this intruder, grabbed the hair at the crown of my head and dragged me naked from the bed, "I said to get up, girl!" and I knew then that this was no one I knew; no one I could trust.

He dragged me several paces away before I managed to regain either my feet or my voice. I kicked at him with a foot. He evaded me easily, and in the next moment delivered a stinging blow to my breasts. I gasped in twin shock and pain, and he gave my hair a vicious twist for added measure. "I have no time for kicking, squealing girls," he said, his voice harsh. "Now keep quiet and do as I say!"

Fear struck me, as vulnerable as I was at that moment, but I refused to let myself be dragged away from Primrose, unconscious and unable to defend herself. Overwhelmed, with adrenaline in my blood, I threw myself one way, then the other, to unsteady the man. He stumbled but caught the door-frame. I splayed out a hand, fingers seeking, reaching, and just barely grasping the edge of an expensive vase near the door. Shocked, and tired–difficult with someone's hand twisted tight into the hair of one's head–I swung my arm out, hoping for his face, and knew I made my target when the vase shattered

He seemed to tense, his fingers twisting tighter into my hair, so tight I bit into my cheek as not to cry out, before his hold loosened, the shards and dust of glass snowing across my hair and face. The man swayed a little on his feet, dazed and I used all my effort, a curt jerk of my body away from him. I picked up the nearest object; a solid silver tray which sat Primrose's barely touched dinner. The plates of food clattered to the floor as I flung the tray outward and brought it down on the man's head with as much force as my body allowed.

He fell, with a loud grunt and the _thud_ of tangled limbs.

I stood above him, breathing deeply, staring at the blood that leaked feebly from scratches across his neck and scalp. There was a horrifying moment where I considered that I might have killed him, then I noticed his rising chest, and shuddering breaths. Not dead. Good._ I can live live with that_, I had thought, dropping the silver tray.

Just as it struck the ground and I turned back to the bed, to retrieve Primrose and find somewhere safe for us or to report this intruder to the guards, a hand shot out and pressed into my mouth. I flinched, whirled and found myself facing three men; and I felt two of them grasp me tightly in their hands.

The other paced toward the bed and snorted at the sight of a groggy, bleary eyed Prim looking up at him confusion. "Looks like we got ourselves a double prize," he said. He picked Prim up in his arms, his thick biceps not straining in the least underneath the weight of the girl in his arms. Prim only mewled something unintelligible, as I threw myself against the arms of the two men who I had no hope of surprising or overwhelming.

"We have not come to rape you, but to take you to the megaron. If you remain quiet, and amenable, you will come to no harm," the man said, making his way to us. I managed an almost nod, a jerk of my chin, and he grunted and, passed by me. I moved to follow, attempting to rip my arms from the hands of the men, but they simply dragged me along, each holding one shoulder of their own.

I could not see their faces in the dark chamber and hall beyond, and I did not look too long to check, but somehow I had no doubt these men were Trojan. And not one of them the tame slaves I had known all my life.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Disclaimer: All Hunger Games characters are the property of Suzanne Collins. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended. Nothing is mine and I disclaim all of it.**_

A/N: So what do you think? Thank you for reading, sorry for typos. Reviews will make sure I don't delete the story. -Taryn (As to someone who asked me to post the old version somewhere else, I will work on that and post in a author's note where I've posted it or if I will.)

* * *

Chapter Two

Singly, or in their twos and threes, Peeta's men dragged variously shocked and compliant, still sleepy and murmuring, or angry and struggling people into the megaron. Every single one of them, as soon as they entered the megaron, fell still and silent as they saw Pandrasus' burly figure kneeling, head bowed in his utter humiliation, several paces before the dais on which stood the throne. He was completely naked save for minor gold jewelry at his wrist and neck and ears.

Then, as if they'd been instructed, every one of them in turn shifted their eyes from Pandrasus, their king, to the warrior slouched in the throne.

He was of some twenty years, wore nothing but his boots, a golden and scarlet waistcloth, and six magnificent golden bands about his limbs. His blonde, slightly shaggy, curly hair was left unbound to course down his neck and about his blunt-faced and black eyed visage. A sword rested across his knees, and Pandrasus' gold and ruby bracelet of rank lay on the floor between his feet.

Peeta, stared unblinking at Pandrasus.

Finally, as a guard signaled that all the palace Dorians and Greeks had been brought to this chamber, Cato walked across the megaron, paused momentarily to stare at Pandrasus, then moved to Peeta's side to murmur something in his ear. "We lost one man to a raved servant, but he was also killed in the fight. And another" –Cato's lips tightened momentarily as he spoke– "knocked out, by the princess' sister."

Peeta nodded, gave Cato a brief smile, then stood.

Cato stepped back to stand just to the left of the throne. Peeta walked very slowly to the edge of the dais where he stopped, his sword swinging idly in his hand, staring about the assembled peoples. With only the exception of Pandrasus, who kept his eyes on the floor, they were all staring at him.

"My name is Peeta," he said slowly, but very clearly, his eyes moving with deliberate precision from person to person within the megaron, "born of Silvus, born of Ascanius, born of Aeneas, hero of Troy and son of Aphrodite herself. I am of the blood of gods and princes, and I am heir to Troy, and to all that Troy claims. This man" –he lifted his sword and pointed it at Pandrasus– "has denied the rights of freedom of body and dignity to my people, whom he keeps as slaves. I have come to rectify this matter." Peeta stepped off the dais, his booted footsteps ringing about the megaron. "I offered to Pandrasus the means to free his people without harm to him or his, but he refused."

Peeta was now circling the megaron, staring at each of the Dorians and Greeks in turn, as if assessing their worth. "He thought to deny my people their freedom, and the gods, in their anger, have humiliated him."

Peeta paused before a girl of some fourteen or fifteen years. She had a round, somewhat plump face–typical of so many girls her age–above a body that was also still caught in a remnant of its childish plumpness. While her features were unremarkable, the long shining blonde hair that tangled over her shoulders and her startlingly deep blue eyes showed that she would one day grow to an attractive woman. She was naked, although apparently unconcerned about the matter, and Peeta noted the ruby and gold bracelet around her wrist. Apart from its size and weight, it was a mirror image of the one that Pandrasus had worn.

He sighed inwardly and allowed his eyes to move to the woman on her right; this one was at least twenty. She, too, was naked, as most people in this heated city went to sleep bare and his men had not allowed them time to dress. But Peeta was surprised by the shudder of need that ran through him as he studied her olive toned flesh. She did not have a particularly seductive body–Peeta would certainly not have looked twice under normal circumstances–but there was something about her... something compelling... Peeta looked back to her eyes, that were a most stunning, deep gray that reminded him of fog and mist and rain, and he was trying to see passed the anger within them, trying to see what it was about her... then she moved her arm slightly, and a gleam caught Peeta's eye, and he saw the woman grasp the blonde girl's hand, the gold and ruby bracelet that encircled the other's wrist, dancing.

Peeta smiled at the two, certain now of what it was that must have made him study her so closely.

She would prove as useful as Thom.

"I am Peeta," he repeated, his voice soft, his eyes holding the woman's, "and I am god-favored. It is not wise to deny me." He began to move once more about the megaron. "I control Mesopotamia. I control this palace. I control you. Be wise. Do not deny me."

Abruptly Peeta turned on his heel and walked back to stand before Pandrasus.

"My price for your freedom, and the freedom of your people, is but a small one," Peeta said, and Pandrasus finally lifted his face to Peeta. "Give the Trojans their freedom from slavery, as graciously as you may. And" –his mouth twitched– "as a mark of your sincerity, I ask that you give to them the means of their freedom." He paused, his light smile growing wider, more substantial, as he saw the hatred in Pandrasus' face. "The means to their freedom, being one hundred ships, and provisions and livestock for their sustenance for one year, as well as seven hundred talents in gold, silver, and other jewelry."

Pandrasus laughed, a big belly laugh, his body shaking with the strength of its merriment. "Who do you think you are? A god yourself, to demand such things of me? Ah!" He spat on the floor before him. "You are nothing but a dung merchant who has let the stink of the shit he peddles addle his wits."

Peeta gave a small nod in the direction of a guard, and Pandrasus suddenly stiffened, his laughter vanished, as he heard his daughter shriek in protest.

The guard dragged Prim over, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and Peeta grabbed her from the guard's grip using her hair. Before Primrose could react, Peeta twisted her neck with a vicious force, subduing all her fight, then forced her to her knees.

Then, one hand in her hair as it had once been in Rory's, with the other Peeta put his sword to Prim's rib cage, just under her breast. She reflexively jerked away from its cold touch, but Peeta easily managed to keep it pressed against her.

"With one movement," he said, noting Pandrasus' frantic eyes, "I can slide this blade deep into her heart. And if you doubt me, for one instant…"

"He will do it." Gale, heretofore kept in the shadows at the back of the megaron, now stepped forward.

Pandrasus looked over his shoulder, shocked, and the grey eyed woman on the floor gave a stifled cry.

Gale walked forward, each step a shuffling testament to his own sense of shame, his face haggard. For one moment, his eyes lingered on the strange woman, the sister, and Peeta felt his own eyes narrow at that. "He will do it," Gale repeated softly as he finally halted a few paces away from Peeta, Prim, and Pandrasus. His eyes were now glued to his uncle's. "He took Thom's life from him, and taunted me, and put his sword to Rory's throat... he would have killed him." Prim stiffened in Peeta's hold, her eyes impossibly wide, as Gale's voice broke.

"And he died badly," Peeta said, giving Prim's head another twist as she let out an appalled sob, more from sorrow, he felt, than pain. "Do you want that for your daughter? In front of all these people?"

Silence, save for Prim, who was moaning.

"Freedom for my people," Peeta said, his voice dangerously quiet. "One hundred ships. Provisions for a year. Gold and jewelry…and…" He had not meant to add that "and" but suddenly, stunningly, he was overwhelmed by a staggering desire and need. It was almost as if he had been god-struck. "…and your daughter's sister as my wife, for I find in these past few minutes that I have grown accustomed to her flesh."

"No!" Prim screamed, struggling, heedless of the blade.

Others about the room, Greek, Trojan, and Dorian, cast their eyes to the woman in questions; confused.

"_No_." Standing forgotten behind the throne, Cato was overwhelmed with a vision of bleakness. He often had these moments where he felt something deeper within him, hinting to him what was to come, what decisions would only end up killing him; however, sometimes it felt as though someone were putting these things into his head. An outsider, full of shadows, death. All he knew was that the woman Peeta had just requested for made his instincts scream dangerous warnings. "No," he whispered, his eyes blank, but no one heard him.

"No," Prim cried yet again, writhing desperately.

"All of this!" Peeta said, his hand tightening in Prim's hair in the struggle to hold her, and his other hand tightened as well, and the sword shifted, and Prim screamed as it bit across the flesh of her rib cage. "All of this!"

"Will you leave?" said a breathless voice, as the woman with the grey eyes threw herself to her feet. There was no anger or terror in her face, only worry, only hope. "If you're granted all this, the gold, the freedom, the provisions, _me..._ you'll leave this city and never return and my people will remain unharmed?"

Peeta stared at her, flickered his eyes to the king, then nodded curtly. Deep in his heart, the real him, answered her truthfully; _no._

"All is yours," whispered Pandrasus, his eyes on Katniss.

"Say it! Stand and say it to these people, who shall bear witness."

Pandrasus stood, almost slipping, his eyes unable to tear themselves from the sight of his daughter now, unsuccessfully trying to pull away from the blade, her pathetic efforts only serving to add more cuts to the one already marring her flesh. "All is his!" he shouted. "Freedom for the Trojan slaves, one hundred ships and provisions for a year. Gold and precious gems. And... and my daughter's sister, whom I hereby give to him as wife." And with those words, Pandrasus knew that he had, surely, killed Katniss.

Peeta nodded, satisfied, and lifted the sword away from Prim's body.

* * *

Once the king had declared Peeta my husband (and what choice had he? Hold his tongue, and watch Prim die?), Peeta had taken the sword from Prim's chest, dropped her head so suddenly she fell to the floor, and he wiped her own blood from his blade in her hair before sheathing it.

I threw myself to my knees before her and clutched her head to my chest, as she threw her arms around me and sobbed. She was saying something about me not leaving her, not going with the awful man. I wiped away her tears, refusing mine to fall, because of the anger I felt boiling in my blood.

Tavia, who'd been watching distraught from the walls of the megaron, rushed to my side and aided me in bringing Prim to her feet. She carried two light cloaks, which she'd snatched from someone else, and she threw them about ours shoulders before hastening us from the chamber (Peeta sent guards after us, as would come naturally to such a savage), taking us to the chamber, where Tavia and I cleansed and dressed the wounds underneath Prim's breasts.

They must have been stingingly painful, but they were not deep enough to require stitches, and so once we had cleaned them I gently rubbed an unguent over them, and kissed her brow, as if she were a child, and as if that single kiss would make better all the grief and shock and humiliation of the past day.

Having attended her wounds and her heart as best I could, Tavia and her then sat with me in our chamber. We waited together all day, waiting for... well, I am not sure for what we waited. We merely sat, holding hands tightly, jumping at every sudden noise. Every so often there would be the sound of running feet in the corridors, and shouts, and once a scream–no doubt of some hapless woman being raped.

The streets were similarly frenzied, filled from time to time with screams and shouts and noises that I did not care to clearly identify. By the evening, however, both the palace and the city streets beyond had quietened.

Eventually, of course, Peeta remembered me.

As night fell he came to the chamber, and ordered Tavia and my sister to begone. Prim left crying in Tavia's arms. Servants fell to his bidding (I could not begrudge them their terrified willingness) and arrayed the low table by the window with food and fine wines.

He asked me to sit with him (I was by this time standing in the farthest corner of my chamber), and when I refused with a mute shake of my head, Peeta dragged me with a hard, repulsive hand to the chair by the table of food.

So we sat, watching each other wordlessly, the table standing between us.

Of course, so much more stood between us. He watched me with an air of slight puzzlement combined with amused speculation. He wore nothing but a somewhat sweat-stained gold and scarlet waistcloth and what even at this moment I recognized as exquisitely worked golden bands about his tightly muscled limbs. Used to only the soft, slim bodies of courtiers I found his warrior musculature and sun-goldened skin displeasing, almost ostentatious. He was physically suited to guard duty, perhaps, to the receiving of orders, not to sitting here before me, so relaxed and confident, as if he had... as if he had the right.

He continued to watch me with measured deliberation, and I stared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away, my apparent calmness hiding a tumultuous cauldron of emotion. I was humiliated, angry, terrified, shocked, grief-stricken, and guilty, and of all these, the guilt was the worst. If only I had not so thoughtlessly allowed Prim to say those things to her father, and sent him "a-hunting" after this Peeta. Had I spoke out about my bed feeling, maybe things would have been different? If Prim had thought, and been more circumspect... if I had begged her father to listen to the prudent wisdom of Sarpedon, would then Thom still be alive? Would Prim's father still be laughing, proud and strong, in his megaron? Would my fellow Mesopotamians not be subject to the brutality and rape I was sure was being enacted in every house within the city as this man, this Peeta, and I sat in silence, staring at each other?

My guilt was too terrible to bear, and so I used it to fan my outrage and anger. Who was this man, this piece of filth, to so humiliate myself and my king? Who was he to so carelessly murder Thom, a dear friend to Gale? Who was he who had so completely destroyed my life?

"Eat," he said, and I shook my head in a single jerky motion.

He bent forward, picked up an apple, then leaned back in his chair and considered me as he bit into the fruit. The sound of his teeth biting into the crispness of the apple was shocking in the otherwise silent chamber, the steadiness of his eyes as they regarded me alarming, and the juice of the apple as it trickled down his stubbled chin made my mouth and throat dry out in sheer terror. For some reason, it reminded me that this man had declared himself my husband, and if now he was here in my chamber, then there was a good reason for that.

My hands clenched together in my lap, and I concentrated on my anger. If he knew of my terror, then he had surely won.

As he finished the apple, he signaled a servant standing by the door, and the man came running.

"I would bathe," Peeta said. "Fill the tub, if you please."

The servant scurried away, and Peeta slurped the last of his wine, banging the empty cup on the table.

Oh, Hera, I hated him! Everything about him repulsed me. His barely clothed body, his sweat, his blunt Trojan features, his stableyard manners, his sheer, damned confidence.

"What is your name?"

My mouth dropped open. He didn't know my name? He had taken me as wife, he had murdered my people, he had humiliated my king and my sister to the entire court, and he didn't know my name? It was, I think, the ultimate insult, and at that moment my anger won out over all my other emotions.

He raised his blonde eyebrows, no doubt thinking he was being patient.

I compressed my lips, bit into my cheek, and refused to speak.

He sighed. "I have a wife, but I do not know her name." He shrugged, his black eyes very still. "What shall I call her, then, when I cry out in my passion?"

Furious, my entire face flaming, I refused to answer. I could not believe this brute thought he was going to bed me. He was a Trojan, for Hera's sake. He could not possibly think that he could... that he could...

He smiled. It gentled his face, and I turned my eyes from him, not wanting to fall for such trickery.

"I am sorry for what has happened," he said. "You must be scared."

"I am not!" I said, stung finally to speech. "I am not the pampered princess as you think me to be. I'm no daughter of a king, my lineage is not proud. I do not 'scare.'"

He managed to dampen his smile. "Please, tell me your name."

I hesitated, then, because he might construe my continued refusal to tell him as childish, I finally relented. "I am Katniss."

"Katniss." He tried it out in his mouth. "It is a strange name, and not beautiful enough for you."

"It is a proud name!"

"For a proud and most indignant girl," he said, the laughter escaping now, and I was so enraged I would have leaned the distance between us and slapped him had not a bevy of servants filled the room with their scurrying and pails of hot water to fill the bath.

Once they had done, and scented the water and laid out the best of our towels, he nodded a dismissal, and they left us.

I, too, rose to my feet, meaning to follow them, but he rose as swiftly as a striking snake and caught at my wrist. He was a head taller than I, and I found myself hating him for that. He twisted my wrist, just very slightly, enough to make me take a step closer to him. "Stay," he said, "and aid your husband in his bath."

I stared at him a long time, wondering what went on in his mind. He did not have to play gentle. For all that it was worth, he did not even have to claim me his wife to have me; I was a mere part of the spoils of winning the city. He could have raped me without marrying me, and raped Prim too, and a hundred women for that matter. Yet, Peeta had chosen to bind himself to me, for the most puzzling reason. I had thought it some strange Trojan courtesy leading up to his rape... but he has yet to pin me to the bed and take what he wants.

"Why?" I whispered, lifting my eyes from his hand wrapped around my wrist. "Why have you come here? Mesopotamia was the only place.. after the Catastrophe.. Troy had its time. Can't you let that go? Isn't it time someone else ruled the Aegean world?"

Peeta seemed surprised by my words, then he dropped my wrist. "The truth?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow to indicate I would like that.

The man smiled, and his face was so gentled by it, I forgot I had labeled him ugly. Those bright, fierce black eyes were suddenly empowered and hopeful and excited. A child-like life in there, somewhere, behind the warrior. I felt the confusion cloud my expression at the change in him.

"Do you see these bands?" Peeta asked, touching the one on his biceps. All about his body the bands sprouted, solid gold, about his biceps, upper forearms, and just below his knees. Fine craftsmen had wrought these golden bands, and on each of them they had embossed the same repeating symbol: a twisted rose. "They were given to me by a god."

"Which?" I said. Peeta looked over my face for a moment as if suddenly faced with a hesitation. "You can trust me," I said, not sure if meant it. Inside I knew I would use any information he gave me to stab him in the back. Anything to murder this man who plans on taking me from Prim, from my home.. and once the deed is done I would return. I was sure of it. "I'm your wife now."

The skin around Peeta's eyes crinkled as he considered that. "I suppose.." he said and he shook his head. When he met my gaze I could see he was not going to tell me, and he had other thoughts in his mind. "Cato calls me a fool for marrying you, perhaps he is right."

"You will let me go?" I said, too fast, too hopeful.

"Where would you go?" Peeta challenged. "You are safe in this room. Within my protection."

I did not even think about it. "I would go to Gale," and the moment I said it I knew it was a mistake.

"You love him?" he said.

My anger and pride got the better of me. "He is honorable, and beautiful, and noble. All the things you are not. He"-I allowed my eyes to sweep down Peeta's form contemptuously-"did not stink."

"And I do not whimper and hand over my own city and people for weakness," he said very softly, and I knew I had at last nettled him. "Do you think that he would be a more deserving husband for you than I?"

"_Always,_" I hissed, low and steady.

"I am the only one you have," he said. "Stink or not, I am the only husband you have." And with that he grabbed me to him, and made as if he would kiss me.

I hit his face as hard as I could with my free hand. I moved to run, but Peeta was quicker and he had my arm in his grip as he jerked me to the floor, before him. Panic blossomed in my mouth like weeds. "Let me.. me go. Let me go, you…you…" I struggled against him, even more furious because I could find no word vile enough for him. "You goat!"

"Then I shall not speak," he said, in a voice so low and vibrating with fury that I could not help but tremble. "You will receive your husband as you see him, stick and goat and all."

He lifted me, even though I beat at his shoulders with my fist, and carried me to the bed. As he bore me down against the mattress, I kicked and scratched at him, shrieking, hoping that the sound would bring the servants scurrying.

None came.

He bore me down to the bed, then stood back. He shook out his hair down his back, then reached his hands to his waist to divest himself of his waistband and waistcloth. I rolled away, thinking to escape from the other side of the bed, then cried out as his hand gripped my ankle painfully.

"Hera!" I cried, but there was no answer, and through my sudden onslaught of panic and fright, the words bubbled from my lips, unknown, "Seeder! Oh, gods." It were as if she had never been; but yet I felt a hand reach out to me and touch me. Caress my flesh where he gripped too tight. I heard the woman's voice, breathing in the shell of my ear; _beloved child._

I heard the rustle as Peeta dropped his waistcloth and band to one side, then a surprisingly gentle hand touched my shoulder as I lay, curled about my knees and weeping in fear and humiliation. I cursed myself for the tears that fell.

He rolled me back to face him–I turned my face away from his nakedness–and he brushed the tears from my face. Like promised he said nothing, climbing in beside me, but then, he looked stricken and he opened his mouth, "Katniss, I–"

"I find you loathsome," I snarled through a sob. "Horrid. You killed Thom! You hurt Prim!" Then, to my everlasting shame, I burst into childish sobs, hiccuping and snuffling as if half the Acheron had flooded my nose.

He rolled himself close to me, and I drew away from his hateful, coarse flesh. He pulled me yet closer, his unkempt hair surrounding me–a torment of ten thousand fingers dragging slowly across my skin.

His arms tightened, brooking no resistance, and he began to caress my breasts, my belly, and those parts that had never been probed before. It was repulsive. I cringed under his hand and I tightened my legs against the intrusion of his fingers. I twisted my face away from his and I tried to tear his hands from my body. All to no avail. He never did manage to speak, or lay his mouth to mine... but he did far, far worse.

I swore, as he knelt over me, both my wrists held tight above my head in one of his great hands and the other forcing my legs apart, that I would not cry out, that I would not give him that satisfaction. I screwed my eyes tight shut, that at least I might not see, and I bucked beneath him all I might, but he was too strong and too determined in his aim to humiliate and subjugate me.

"Don't fight me," he snarled in my neck.

But I continued to fight, of course I did, and he hurt me so horribly that I swore as the burning, brutal agony coursed through my body that I would hate him forever, that he would spend his life regretting that ever he thought to do this to me. The feel of him forcing his way inside me, thrusting unbelievably deep, was so vile, so obscene, that at one point I held my breath, hoping that somehow I could escape him through death. But I had to breathe, I couldn't stop myself, and my entire world collapsed into nothing but the wild thrusting of his body, the wretched stink of his sweaty flesh rubbing and pressing against mine, the harsh sound of his gasping lust, and–finally, despicably, the ultimate humiliation–the wetness of his seed inside me.

"Gale!" I sobbed, holding on to his name as a charm. "Gale!"

Finally, thankfully, I had hurt him. He cursed, and pulled himself free of my body, bruising me even in that action. "I am going to bathe," he said, and he rolled away, and rose from my bed.

I lay there, weeping softly, my mind scattering in a thousand different directions. Everything had gone so wrong, everything that had kept me safe was destroyed, every dream and hope of mine lay ruined.

I cried until, abruptly, Peeta disappeared, not to the bath, but from the bedchamber entirely. I heard the guards beyond the door rebuke when he threw the passageway open and then they glanced in the room, at me, staring, as Peeta walked away, down the hallway.

I succumbed to exhaustion then, curled in a ball. It was not so much slipping into sleep, rather I was suddenly within the ordinary bedchamber of Mesopotamia.. and then suddenly... suddenly... I was no longer within the bed, nor even within my home. Instead I stood on a blasted rock, the sea churning about me, drenching me with its salty waters. Above my head wheeled immense black birds, screaming and shrieking so horribly I put my hands to my ears and cried out.

"Beware!" spoke a voice, and I spun about, almost losing my footing on the treacherous rock. A woman, wraithlike, so insubstantial the waves cascaded straight through her, stood a pace away at the very edge of the rock.

"Who are you?" I whispered. The wraith reached out a hand, and as it neared my face, the flesh solidified so that warm skin touched my cheek. I knew instantly, deep inside her chest, who it was. "Hera!"

The more I stared, the more I sensed. I could taste the salty breeze in my lungs and beyond Hera's shoulder, where the waves crashed and wavered, another wraithlike woman stood amongst the worst of the motility, the water washing through her as though she absorbed it. The being turned her lovely eyes to me as I stared at her, and she moved, rippled, smiled, and I saw that she herself was made of the waves.

"Beloved child," spoke the water goddess, her voice faint, crackled. I did not know her name. I thought of Poseidon, the king of the sea, but there was no mistaking this being's femininity. I opened my mouth, meaning to ask, but the water wraith was fading, as if called away and Hera demanded my attention.

"Beloved child," Hera said, echoing the water wraith. I saw in her newly fleshed face that her eyes were awash with tears. "Beloved child, beware, for you have a great enemy."

I put a hand over hers, and pressed it more deeply against my cheek. _Is this real?_ I wondered to myself. _A dream surely, brought on by my torment. This is me losing my sanity. _"Hera," I whispered, so overcome with the goddesses' presences and the disbelief of them in my soul, I paid virtually no heed to their words. Then my mouth twisted the name, "Seeder..." _Am I only dreaming and think you real, or are you real and I think myself dreaming?_

"A great enemy. The Thorned One. Coriolanus. He will hunt you down one day, Katniss. Be prepared."

"Coriolanus?" The name was strange on my tongue, not of my native language. Slowly, what Hera was saying sank into my consciousness. An enemy, and one who sounded so malevolent? My fear and pain, initially comforted by the goddess' presence, now reasserted itself, and I felt the cold foreboding once more in my bones, sharp inside my soul.

"The Rose. The Thorned One. Keep watch for him, Katniss. He hunts, and he will hunt you."

I did not know if I could trust this warning. The goddess before me was familiar, yet strange; I could see youth in the depths of those wide eyes, but in her pale skin, and tall elegant form (which I now recognized from the dream of a passed night) there were streaks of decay marring her arms and legs and cheeks.

"What…who…what do you mean?" I managed to speak.

Hera's other hand lifted, and for one blessed moment she held my face cradled between her two hands. "You are so beautiful," she whispered, and I wondered how she, the most lovely of goddesses, could say this. "So beautiful, and you must learn also to be strong, and courageous, for nothing else will stop him."

"You could–"

"No. I am dying, and the gods are at war. The Olympians fall to the rebels. The Enlightened rise faster and higher by the day. I have not much longer before the waves of the Catastrophe engulf me completely. Katniss, listen. The new gods will abandon you and your kind. The world has been stolen from us. A time will come when you must use the power I have given you" –my mouth opened to interrupt, _what power? _And I heard her voice in my mind, reply, _Peeta. _She continued her words without stopping– "When that time comes, lead. Lead wars, child. It is all that can save you — and through you all of the world — from Coriolanus."

I had no idea what she meant. She was dying? Gods can die? War among themselves? The Enlightened _rise_? Who? The Olympians _can_ fall? How could I lead war? I wasn't even sure I was cut out for palace life. "Hera–"

"You shall meet two distant sisters of mine, one sad and weary, and damaged by Coriolanus' viperish curse as well, but far more cunning than I, and whose brethren does not aspire against her and her own. She will aid you. She is all that will be left to care for you, now."

"And the other?" I whispered.

"I gave Peeta to you to protect," was all Hera said, as though the other sister possessed threat.

And I knew she saw the flare of anger in my eyes; ordered to _protect_ the man who just raped me?

Her hands dropped away from my face, and she stepped back, and her form became insubstantial once more. "Wait!" I cried, reaching out to her. What did all that mean? I didn't understand anything of what she told me!

"Farewell, beloved," Hera whispered. "Farewell." And she was gone.

I woke, fully conscious, into the darkness of the bedchamber.

"Coriolanus?" I whispered. The word seemed to echo in the quiet room, and I felt, for the oddest reason, anger inside my chest. I felt foolish, too. That had to be only a dream, surely. A vivid, strange dream where I made up this unknown word? A name, of The Thorned One, The Rose, the being who was meant to tear apart my world? To hunt me down?

Hadn't Peeta already done that?

I shuddered, rolled to my side, and found, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Peeta sat in the now-cooled water of the tub, washing away the battle and sex sweat from his body. He regretted what he had done–not so much the bedding of Katniss, it happened to every girl sooner or later, but the marrying of her in the first place.

He closed his eyes and touched one of the golden bands. Silently he wondered if Clove would respond. _I am sorry, _he directed the words to the goddess who had helped him win his battle, _you told me Mesopotamia was my test. Was Katniss the test of loyalty? Have I failed?_

What had come over him? He'd taken everything he'd needed from Pandrasus, he most certainly could have had his bedding of his daughter and her sister without marrying either... so... why had he done it? It was as if someone else had spoken those words for him, or had forced them out of his mouth. They'd been a deep compulsion, shot through his mouth before he'd been able to swallow them.

"They were," spoke a voice and Peeta snapped his eyes open and allowed them to stray to the bed, where his wife slept, but she was as soundlessly asleep as she was when he had returned to her.

Who had spoken was a woman standing some paces to the left of the tub. He tensed, then realized it was the familiar form of Clove; her dusky skin gleaming in the darkness, her muddy brown eyes as hard as he remembers them to be since boyhood. "She has a darkness about her," Clove said, slinking closer, motioning toward the bed. "I cannot know what it is. It's.. just out of my reach. Something.. someone, is helping her. But there are so many different possibilities.." Clove shook her head, dark hair bouncing around her face. "For all we know she won the favor of a pathetic sprite and it thinks to comfort her with its weak gifts."

"She is of no threat?" Peeta asked.

"None." Clove reached the tub, and tossed aside her golden bow and arrows (of which Peeta knew she'd taken from the goddess Artemis when Clove had murdered her for her powers, though weak as they were) and with a smooth smile on her face, Clove sank naked into the tub, sliding easily into Peeta's lap. Peeta rested his chin on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

"You are worried," Clove accused. "You do not believe in yourself."

"I never did."

"Why!" she exclaimed, still speaking softy, though her voice was amused. "You have just won yourself the richest city the gods have not thought to destroy in jealousy of another or in pure spite of our dead king, Zeus. You even got yourself a wife! You are quite old not to have been married–"

"I was engaged once," Peeta said. "Before you killed my father."

Clove noticeably tensed. "It had to be done. He would have stopped you and held you back." She turned in Peeta's arm and straddled his lap, her face level to his. There was something about her beauty that screamed stillness in the breeze. She cradled his face in her hands, closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his.

They stayed like that for several moments before Clove drew back, her eyes clouded as she muttered to herself. "You have done too much in too short a time. Rape is not becoming of your true nature, Peeta. Even those two slices you put into that child princess.. and that ridiculous boy solider. Your soul is weak. How is it I am stuck with you?" Clove seemed almost to phrase the last one as a true request. She sighed when Peeta just stared at her, mystified. "Very well," she said and moved slightly, a hand finding the golden band on his arm, tugging it off. "I shall free you for the night, for I need you strong tomorrow and able to cut down a man who stands in your way..." she paused and said this lowly, "Hades is upset."

"You told me Hades would be dead," Peeta countered, half confused and half sure.

"_Soon_. I promise. It's hard to kill him when he is so far from me. Thresh is rising faster to king than I thought he could and that upsets all my plans." Clove ducked closer and brushed her lips across his cheek to Peeta's ear. "You shall be my king, ruler of Trojans, my blood of the gods, heir of Tory, and I shall become queen at your side. Together, we will be become immortal royalty. I can give you everything. I can make you a god..." it was the list of things she'd been promising Peeta since he was fifteen. "_Soon_," she whispered, "you will no longer have need of a mortal wife who is nothing but legs to be spread."

Clove took off the second band. This one around his bicep. She saw the blackness in his eyes retract slightly. Peeta found his voice. "I will need her," he seemed sure about this. "She can give me sons."

"I can breed you finer sons." She removed the third band from his forearm.

Peeta moved underneath Clove, suddenly uncomfortable. There was the slightest shift from black to blue in his eyes and Clove leaned forward to lay her mouth to his. Peeta tensed, then relaxed underneath her as she pulled the fourth band from his bicep.

For one moment she fretted over this wife, then relaxed, smiling at herself. How could she be jealous of Katniss? Clove was a goddess by all means, though she was put together with broken pieces of others, she was still powerful and beautiful. This mortal of no important blood was nothing in comparison. Let Peeta have her and play with her all he like, in the end Clove would have him, as she'd always trapped him.

When Clove wiggled the bands off both his thighs, Peeta abruptly pushed her off of him. She expected that. The disgust and anger and regret on his face made her laugh aloud. "You make me do worse every day," he accused harshly, his eyes straying to the bed and the regret deepened in his face at the sight of the woman curled around herself there, until he looked haggard.

"I am making you stronger," Clove said, gently, touching his cheek. He roughly shoved her touch away. "My king of gods must know to kill and rape and plunder like any mortal man."

"Go." Peeta said no more to her as he pushed himself from the tub, dried himself, and walked slowly back to the bed. His body was very dark in the night, his hair, still unbound, curled against his neck. Clove touched her tongue to her lips as she imagined the gold bands in her arms wrapped about his limbs; she realized she should have waited before taking them off as he groaned to himself and sank to his knees on the floor beside the bed.

Clove rose, walked to him and left a trail of water in her wake. She laid a hand on Peeta's shoulder. "She will get used to you," Clove said.

"I will not be a bad husband to her," Peeta swore.

Clove laughed loudest yet, filling the chamber with her voice. "You will do as I tell you."

Peeta stiffened when Katniss sighed in her sleep and shook herself slightly. He watched her eyes snap open and felt the pit of self hate that had gathered in his stomach for years claw its way to his throat.

When he turned his head, Clove was gone.

* * *

I heard the sound of laughter. A woman's laugh.

My eyes opened groggily, only to find my husband sitting on the floor by the bed. Alone.

As I stared at him, guarded, waiting for him to have another go, he rose to the edge of the bed and sat.

I stilled as one of his hands stroked my arm, almost sadly.

He did not touch me anywhere else, but flinched away from me as I tensed. There was a frown on his face, a dent between his once perfectly blunt face. I cast my face away from his, refusing to let the dream I had this night get to me; _protect Peeta._

_From what?_ I wanted to know. There was no one here to protect me from him. Not even Gale, despite how much I had used him verbally to strike out at my husband. I stirred when her touched my turned cheek with a warm hand. He caressed the flesh, pressed a thumb into the side of my lips, before his fingers danced across my hair.

I closed my eyes, disgust and hatred bubbling in my stomach. It took all my energy not to hit him.

The fingers traveled down my neck and dusted the tops of my breasts, before they caught my shoulder and jarred me gently. I opened my eyes, as I knew he meant me to and Peeta's fingers caught my chin with a few fingers and lifted my face to meet his gaze.

"You look exhausted," Peeta whispered.

There was something different about this man. Too gentle. Something off and tender about his face. He leaned forward and though I went perfectly still, his lips brushed my forehead. "Sleep. Dream."

Peeta's eyes seemed sad, regretful, and so, so mournful, that I trapped his face near mine with a swift hand. My eyebrows were knit together, my face scrunched in my confusion, my bewilderment. I wanted to know if this was a trick. Some sort of thing he was doing to gain my sympathy or forgiveness for what he'd done to me that was unforgivable.

That's when I realized with the most bemusement of all, that his once hungry, lustful, liquid black eyes, were now the softest sigh of blue. So blue, that I wondered how I could have ever thought and mistaken them to be black.

"Who are you?" I asked, unsure where the words came from.

The man smiled, and it seemed not to gentle his face like before, rather it was natural. As if his face wasn't ugly in anyway and he was the most beguiling person I'd ever laid eyes on. "Your husband."


	3. Chapter Three

_**Disclaimer: All Hunger Games characters are the property of Suzanne Collins. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended. Nothing is mine and I disclaim all of it.**_

A/N: Thank you so, so much for all the reviews. Hope you like this one! -Taryn

* * *

Chapter Three

**Mesopotamia, Three Months Later**

Glimmer walked through the dimly lit predawn corridors of the palace in Mesopotamia.

Warriors stood about at various guard points, alert but not overly so; the Dorians had been subdued many weeks ago, and now no one expected much more from them save the odd resentful glance.

Glimmer nodded at the guards, knowing each man from the many years he had traveled with Peeta; and being the only woman among his army and companions, she had spent many of those years, willingly subduing a lot of them with her physical charms.

In the palace, Peeta used only his own men for sentry duty; in the city Marvel's men stood watch. So fairly everyone she whisked passed has seen her naked before, kissing a man, tangled into one, and in turn once she passed them, a small smile touched theirs lips.

She murmured a greeting to the warrior standing at the entrance to Peeta's chamber, then slipped silently through. The chamber was large, and even though no oil lamps burned it was dimly lit by the quarter moon whose light slipped in through the large unshuttered windows.

It was enough that Glimmer could see well enough for her purpose.

She moved silently to the bed, and stopped at its side, looking down at its two naked occupants. Peeta lay on his stomach half covering Katniss, as if even in sleep he needed to subdue her. She slept on her back, the moonlight glistening off her pale skin. Glimmer could see dark shadows circling her eyes, and she wondered how many nights she actually slept, and how many she lay, wakeful but inert under the heavy weight of Peeta's body.

Glimmer's eyes left Katniss to trail over Peeta. She did not think she had ever seen a more beautiful man, and the sight made her draw in a deep breath…which she instantly regretted. The warm night air was rank with the stale odor of sex. Glimmer's nostrils flared in distaste, and her belly tensed in sudden jealousy.

How many times was it that she dreamed of Peeta making her his queen? How many times had she laid beneath Cato, or any other men of Peeta's and had pictured the blonde man above her in their place?

It was lust that made her want Peeta. Lust for power and a prince and a god.

Glimmer long ago realized that Peeta would one day take a wife, and had long ago resigned herself to it, knowing that Peeta had refused her in many ways. She wondered it if was because he did not want or.. because of that strange dark haired goddess that Marvel informed both her and Cato about; they'd never seen her before.

That was different; what Marvel told her was not cause for pettiness.

But to marry this bitch!

Every time Cato saw Katniss, Glimmer had not missed his narrowing eyes. It was to her that Cato confessed unease. He had told her that Katniss reminded him of the malignant evil Cato had once seen crawling down the Acheron toward Mesopotamia. _What was the connection_, she wondered,_ between this Katniss and the evil that had crawled from Hades' Underworld?_

Glimmer looked back to Katniss, and started. She was awake, her heavy-lidded eyes staring at her with flat hatred.

"Peeta," Glimmer said, not dropping her eyes from Katniss' stare.

Peeta woke, instantly and completely. "Glimmer!" he said, half rising. "Is there–"

"Nothing is wrong," Glimmer said, "but the first of the ships has arrived, and are at anchor beyond the bay. I thought you should know."

"Ah," Peeta sighed in relief, and relaxed back to the bed. Over the past three months he'd forced Pandrasus to purchase or lease (with Dorian gold, naturally) every available ship from those eastern Mediterranean ports still operating. Now the first of them had arrived. "How many?" he said.

"Eight," Glimmer said, then, as she was about to elaborate, she drew in a sharp breath, and sat down on the edge of the bed by Katniss' side.

Katniss shrank away from her, and Glimmer's mouth curled in amusement.

"What is it?" Peeta said, staring at Glimmer's face.

In reply Glimmer laid her hand on Katniss' breast. She hissed, and made as if to strike Glimmer, but Peeta held her arms. "What is it?" he said again, with more concern this time.

"Her breasts are no longer those of the virgin girl," said Glimmer. "See how they have swollen, and their veins have become engorged. And see here, her nipple." Her finger brushed over it, and Katniss' entire body twisted as she unsuccessfully tried to dislodge the hand. "It has darkened, and become more prominent." Glimmer glanced at Katniss' face, then slid her hand to her belly. "And feel how her belly's roundness has firmed. Has she had her monthly courses since you have been sharing her bed, Peeta?"

"No, I think not…or perhaps it is that I have just not noticed."

"She is with child, Peeta."

Peeta's eyes flew to Katniss' face. If she had known, and there was every reason to suppose she had, then frankly Peeta was not surprised she had neglected to tell him; they had not become the closest and most trusting of companions. He looked back to Glimmer. "What do you see? Tell me, Glimmer!"

Glimmer stared at Peeta for a long time. It was rare that he asked her of such strain. There was a reason Peeta stole her from her Greek isle, during his exile and never let her stray from his fleet. "On her?" Glimmer was loathed to ask.

"Would you?"

Glimmer drew in another deep breath, firmed the pressure of her hand on Katniss' quivering belly, and closed her eyes, searching for the vision. It came to her quickly: _Katniss, great bellied with child, withering on a bed in the agony of birth. Her face was twisted, but with terror as well as with pain._

Glimmer frowned, and pressed her hand more firmly into Katniss' belly.

* * *

She lay on a bed made of rough wood and coarse blankets. It was a dark night, but in the flickering torchlight Glimmer could make out that this was no palace, but the sorry tumbledown hut of a peasant.

A midwife was crouched at the foot of the bed, her hands extended to the baby's head as it emerged from Katniss' body. Her face was stretched in terror as well, and Glimmer wondered why, what it was about this birth that so–

Swords flashed, glinting in the lamplight, and there came the sound of close combat. Both women screamed. The baby slithered forth, and Glimmer looked at it. It was a boy, and on his arms and legs he wore the gleaming golden bands she oft saw Peeta wearing.

Then the visionary Katniss screamed again, and Glimmer's eyes jerked toward her. A sword flashed down, and buried itself in Katniss' now flaccid belly. Blood spewed from the wound, smothering both Katniss and the baby that lay crying between her legs. Katniss jerked and twisted in her death agony, but the baby remained unharmed, warmed by the blood that bathed him. He stopped crying, and as his mother died, waved his gold-banded arms and legs as if in celebration. Or victory.

* * *

Glimmer lifted her hand from Katniss, and looked at Peeta. "It is a boy, and he will be a king. All is well."

Peeta smiled, first at Glimmer, then, to Glimmer's horror, at Katniss.

At that moment Glimmer had never hated Katniss so much, and even the knowledge that she harbored within her the manner of her own death did not assuage her jealousy.

* * *

Safe within her stone hall, felling better than she had for many scores of years, Seeder smiled at the small boy that sat under one of the arches framing the side aisles below the golden dome overhead. He was regarding his toes as if they were the most fascinating things in creation.

She walked over to him, softly so as not to frighten him, and held out to him an arrow made of finely made wood. He lifted his eyes from his toes and regarded her with solemn blue eyes–his father's eyes.

Seeder waggled the arrow at him, and the boy smiled, and reached out his hands.

"Silly, spiteful Glimmer," Seeder said. "We can't have your darling mother dying in your birth, can we?"

Now the boy laughed, and grabbed the item in her hand.

"What a dark ugly vision," Seeder continued, then paused to laugh to herself at the boy's joy. "I can't think who could have put it into her dark ugly mind."

* * *

I had known for many weeks about the child but, naturally, had not told Peeta.

It was one more reason to hate him. Hating Peeta had become the focus of my entire existence. If I didn't hate him, if I didn't concentrate on that hatred and nurture it with everything I had, then I was sure I would lose my mind.

Since that first night when he had raped me with such violence, and then wiped away my tears and was gentle with me (had he thought that would somehow appease me?), the daily ritual of my life was centered about him.

Apart from Tavia and Primrose, who came to me every morning and stayed with me until noon (when they were sent away to their new lodgings elsewhere in the palace until the next day), Peeta was one of the few constants in my life in the first weeks since that disastrous day when our soldiers and Thom had been so abominably slain and our king and Prim had been so horribly humiliated.

For weeks Peeta kept me relatively isolated; everyone I knew save Tavia and Prim was gone. The servants in the palace were replaced with Trojans, the courtiers were either dead or dismissed, my king imprisoned. Peeta usually ate alone with me in the evenings in my chamber (I could not yet think of it as our chamber), but sometimes he caused me to sit with him and his fellows in the megaron for the evening meal. That was true torture, to be forced to sit among his companions, and listen to their laughter and jests, and to feel their eyes slide over me, considering, perhaps enjoying my humiliation.

Marvel, who my father had treated so well, who had been given so many privileges, was generally among Peeta's companions. I considered him a traitor. They'd been dealt with well, they'd had good lives – why then betray our king to this degree?

Of Peeta's own warrior companions, Cato was always present, as was Glimmer. Cato and the others of Peeta's guard were pleasant enough to me, but Glimmer always looked at me with eyes dark with hatred and, I eventually realized, jealousy. She was a vile woman, a snake in a woman's skin and a woman who lusted for Peeta. I had not realized that until that wretched morning when she had touched me as Peeta lay beside me in my bed. I had not realized before then that Glimmer resented me, but I saw it clearly that morning – as I also saw that Glimmer was one of those who possessed strange gifts and witchery that most would have hung her for. If I could have given her Peeta, I would have done so, but if there had ever been anything between Peeta and Glimmer, Peeta showed no sign of wanting to resume it now. Not when he had me.

For weeks all I heard was Trojan laughter, all I saw were Trojan faces, all I had was my own despair and fright and pain. Tavia did her best for me, but her efforts did not, could not, counter the weight of sheer "difference" in my life. Everything I had known had been swept away in the most brutal fashion possible; everything that had been familiar and which I had loved had been replaced with Peeta.

Possibly the one of the only things I had left was my little sister. It was through her I realized my own pregnancy. She had come to me crying and happy, though how could she be truly happy while Trojans ran her city? Tavia had told her just the other day that she was with child, Rory's child; though she had not seen Rory, nor Gale, nor any of her cousins since the day in the megaron.

I was happy for her where I was not for myself; I had to remind myself that I married Peeta merely for her. To save her life from the sword black-eyed Peeta had laid to her chest, but late at night through these passed three months–for it was not often Peeta came to my bed with blue eyes, and possessing kindness, or even memories of those kindnesses he had used on me–Peeta confessed to me that he would never have been able to kill her; and when he asked me if I wanted truth, he confessed that the plan would have been for Glimmer to slit my throat from behind, as they had done to Thom.

Blue-eyed Peeta was kind and tender and hated himself as much as he hated Glimmer and Cato and Marvel. It puzzled me more than I showed him. If there was an explanation for the transformations or if they was some strange illness that went on and off at random points in a month causing one to be an incarnation of sugar and than death, I did not have that knowledge.

All I wanted to do was destroy black-eyed Peeta as repayment for the destruction he had wrought in my life. More often or not he was black-eyed Peeta and he never failed to come to me at night as that; it was always the same. I ceased to fight him in bed after his first horrific assault on my body. There seemed to be no point in hurting myself and, besides, after that first night, I'd decided that my revenge would be the easier if he thought he'd completely cowed me.

So I lay there, night after night, my eyes closed, my head turned aside, and let him do what he wanted.

Sometimes I did not. When blue-eyed Peeta came to me he stared at me with so much sorrow it broke my heart, and I would force myself to harden and turn from him. I would not be appeased. He would apologize those nights, as he brushed fingers through my hair or over my arm, or a bruise he might have caused another night. He'd tell me random things; how he felt when he held a sword to Rory's throat, what happened that day when he was supervising the preparation of the Trojan's departure, how much he wished I didn't hate him, but he would also say I had ever right to.

One night, Peeta told me he would stop coming to me, if he could help it. I was confused and angry, so I turned to him and demanded he left that moment. He did. I laid awake all night wondering if he would barge in, angry at being ordered around, but he didn't come back until the next night and he had his black eyes. There was nothing I could to reach blue-eyed Peeta in those moments.

After the first few times blue-eyed Peeta showed up, I began to wonder if this was the Peeta I was told to protect. Was I suppose to same blue-eyed Peeta from the savage black-eyed one? And how was he a power? Though magnificent and intelligent in battle and conquering, how was Peeta any different from Gale or any other mortal man?

I did not know. And the goddesses from my dreams never reached out to me again to confirm my thoughts. At night it was either Peeta's kindness or his roughness that visited me. To be fair, the first time had been painful, frightening beyond belief, humiliating, but it was never so again. Having conquered me, black-eyed Peeta had become much gentler. He took care, he took his time, he tried to make me respond in the way that he wanted.

Infuriatingly, he sometimes succeeded.

It was all very well for me to decide not to resist, and to merely turn aside my head, but once my fear of his lovemaking had gone it was difficult to completely ignore what his teeth and tongue and hands were doing to my body. I hated him for that. I lay there and tried to remember Gale's face, tried to make it so it was his hands on me, but all I could feel was Peeta.

One night, one terrible night, he made me moan involuntarily and arc my body hard against his. He paused, and stared at me, his black eyes laughing, and said, "So Katniss is a woman, after all!" and then resumed tormenting my flesh into a state of arousal I did not want it to experience. Not with him.

Parts of me actually wished it were blue-eyed Peeta who came to my bed and made love to me; but that would not be preferred over no man coming to my bed at night. However it spun, I did not want to be married to this man, who was either ill, insane, or.. something entirely else.

I swore silently that I would see him dead. It was the ultimate degradation: that he should have so destroyed my life, that I should hate him so greatly, and that even so my traitor body should respond so eagerly to his touch. Worse was the day I realized I was pregnant, while holding a jubilant Primrose.

_He put the child in me_, I thought, _on that first horrible night when he bore me to the mattress._

Now I was going to swell with a child and I could not help wondering, _would its eyes be black or blue?_ I begged Tavia to find me the means by which to abort the child–I was sure she would know the herbs to use–but she refused. She said it would be too dangerous to anger Peeta that much; he was around me day and night, he would hardly be likely to overlook a miscarriage and would certainly suspect the reason for it. I argued vehemently with her: Peeta had not noticed the absence of my monthly courses... and surely I could pass off a miscarriage as merely a heavier than normal flow. But no, she would not do it.

_It is your child_, she said, _how could you want to murder it?_

I loved Tavia, somewhat, she was the mother I had never known, but when she said that to me I could cheerfully have slapped her. This was not my child within me–I could not even overcome the thought that it would end up as insane as its father–it was an alien creature that fed off my body in order to grow, a horrible hateful thing that with the changes it increasingly wrought in my body reminded me every waking moment of Peeta's power over me and my sister and my king.

It was a daily reminder of Peeta's virulent success as measured against my pitiful failure in the battlefields of fight and sex. Hate black-eyed Peeta as I might, but I think I disguised the depth of that hatred reasonably well. I was compliant, I did not hiss and spit, and while I was not the most pleasant of companions (that would have surely roused his suspicions), I did enough to make Peeta think my spirit was truly vanquished.

I certainly did a good enough impression of the compliant wife for Peeta to allow me, after a few weeks, to move freely about the palace and to visit my sister and my king once or twice a week. I was sure that eventually that would prove his fatal mistake. Once I could move freely and widely, then the possibilities for revenge increased exponentially.

Especially after the vision that came to me the night after the repulsive Glimmer had revealed my pregnancy. I had thought the gods had abandoned me as Hera said they would. Once Glimmer left Peeta had fallen into a deep stupor. As usual. I lay awake for some time, unable to get comfortable–partly because Peeta had fallen asleep across my body and his muscular frame was an uncomfortable weight to bear, and partly because his child was making me feel a little nauseous.

I moved slightly, trying to ease Peeta's weight away from me, but he grunted in his sleep and moved even more heavily across my body, an arm hooking around me. Frustrated, irritable, exhausted, sick to my stomach, close to tears, I was just about to put my hands on his shoulders and give him an almighty heave–I cared not if I disturbed his sleep–when a voice spoke. "Katniss."

It was barely a whisper, but I was so surprised I jumped as if I'd been slapped.

"Shush, Katniss, do not wake your husband. This is not for his ears."

I looked about the room, and finally saw a figure silhouetted against the open windows. "Hera?" I whispered. The figure walked forward, and I saw by its movement and form that it was indeed a woman. "Seeder?" I said now, although now that she was closer I saw that she did not look much like either goddess who had come to me on the blasted rock to warn me of the impending catastrophe in my life, or to the golden domed hall, but someone slightly younger and of a more rounded build.

The woman at my bed side had dusky skin, different from Seeder's, but enough that same for me to make the connection. Her eyes were a hard brown. "Shush, Katniss, and listen. Tell me, do you want revenge on that man who lies beside you?"

"Yes!"

"Then listen closely to what I say," the visionary woman said, "and you shall have what you want." She stepped yet closer, and now I saw that she had glorious black hair bundled down her back, a bow and arrow slung around her shoulders. I wondered if she was the distant sister Hera had talked of, but in truth, I did not care who she was. If she could give me the means to destroy Peeta, then she was all that I wanted. "Listen, Katniss," the goddess said, and bending gracefully beside the bed, began to whisper in my ear.

* * *

Later that morning Katniss walked the corridors of the palace to the king's closely guarded chamber. She walked gracefully, unhurriedly, her head high and her shoulders back, as if she ruled this place.

Her dress was meticulous: the heavy, flounced embroidered skirts that flowed to either side of her as she walked; the wide tight girdle that flattered her still narrow waist; the tightly fitted blue jacket with its stiffened high neck and lapels that flared to either side of her breasts, a filmy linen blouse under the jacket that while it revealed the bounce and shape of her breasts, hid their more intimate features.

It was a wife's dress, and those that passed her in the corridor assumed Katniss had accepted her place by Peeta's side. The two warriors stationed outside Pandrasus' door nodded her through, used to her visits. Most of the Trojans foolishly believed her the daughter of the king; not just a sister to Prim through a whore mother, and they did not find it suspicious that she should visit him.

She ignored them, brushing past without a glance. Pandrasus sat on a stool by the solitary small, narrow window. It was open, revealing the bustle of the city below. He was staring out, his face expressionless, his eyes blank. She found him thus on every morning that she came to visit.

In the past few months Pandrasus seemed to have shrunk. He was clothed in a simple waistband and short linen waistcloth, his belly folding over the waistband in flabby folds where once it had rounded firm and proud. His arms and legs had thinned as if, having no longer the duties of kingship to support, their muscles had lost their strength and dwindled into uselessness. His hands, dangling between his legs, quavered with slight tremor. Primrose had come to her earlier that morning as Katniss had dressed, and worried and fretted over her thinning father.

Katniss gnawed at the side of her cheek, then, "Father?" escaped her mouth. She drew up a stool to sit next to him.

He turned his head listlessly. "Daughter." He had learned.

"Ships have arrived," she said. "Two nights since. Eight of them."

Pandrasus grimaced, the only sign that he'd heard.

"Your fellow kings betray you," she said.

"They have been paid well with Dorian jewels," Pandrasus said. "Riches buy any loyalty."

"Then use those riches to purchase your own loyalty," Katniss said, keeping her voice low lest the guards at the door heard her.

Pandrasus shrugged, turning his eyes to gaze blankly out the window once more.

"You do not have to lie each night under the weight of his body!" Katniss whispered harshly. "You do not have Trojan sweat ground into your pores! How can you just sit there and shrug when it is I who must endure him? Or what of your daughter? She is with child."

Pandrasus turned his face back to her, his eyes a little less dull than they had been. "Prim?" he murmured. "Did they.."

"No," she sighed. "It is Rory's."

Pandrasus looked dazed. "My nephew?"

"Yes, him. Are you going to let her go another day without her father or the father of her child with her? Risk her being taken with the Trojans, for how would we make them keep their deal? Do not trust blac–" Katniss fumbled with her words. "Peeta," she finished.

He eyed her, until they slipped to her chest and stayed there. He had been with enough woman to know the early changes in them for pregnancy. He also recalls that Katniss had never had much weight on his chest. "You are breeding to him," he said.

"You think to blame me?" she said. "You think this my fault?"

The king said nothing.

"Save me, Father, if not yourself."

"How? How?" Pandrasus was finally roused. "Here I sit day and night cosseted about with Trojan spears! How am I to save you? Or my true daughter? Would you like me to beat that child from your belly? Throw you from this window to a final release? Is that what you want?" Katniss drew back from the man, her expression hard.

"I need a king. I need a king who can hear me when I rouse plans." She scowled. "That is not what sits before me now."

Color mottled Pandrasus' cheeks, and his mouth clamped into a thin line. She held his stare, where once she would have looked away.

"Nichoria," she said. "If you ask Podarces of Nichoria then he will help. Remind him of the debt he owes you."

Pandrasus looked at Katniss carefully, both surprised and a little disconcerted at her knowledge. "The 'debt'?" he said.

"You knew Podarces well when you were young together. You found him one day, burying his youthful manhood between his mother's legs even as he tightened his hands about her throat. You kept your silence, even though matricide–and maternal rape–is a most unnatural offense. Podarces owes you his throne. Call in the debt."

"How do you know this?"

"A woman came to me," Katniss said, her very calmness unnerving. "She said she was a goddess, and showed me the manner of Podarces' mother's death. She said you knew, and it was a knowledge that you should now use to throw off this Trojan insult to your kingdom and your daughter. And me, for Primrose."

Pandrasus stared, then relaxed, nodding a little. "The gods came to you, and have shown you–and thus me–the means to our freedom." He smiled, proud of this girl he had never considered before, and patted her cheek. "I will need you to send him a message, demanding his aid. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Katniss said, sighing inwardly. "Yes, I can arrange that."

* * *

"Cato? Marvel? How stand our preparations?" Peeta and his two companions stood on the beach of the bay just west of Mesopotamia.

It had been three months since the first ships had arrived. Now almost one hundred black-hulled ships bobbed at anchor in the waters before them, crowded so closely together there was scarcely an arm's breath between their sides. Peeta called the flotilla his "kingdom," for a man could step onto one of the outside ships and jump easily from ship to ship, traversing a territory of undulating wooden decks and platforms.

"The last of the ships arrived last night," Cato said.

"Pandrasus said he could get no more," Marvel put in.

"Hmmm," Peeta said, not unduly upset. In the past six months Pandrasus had purchased, leased, begged, stolen, and commandeered virtually all the ships along the west coast of Greece, and some from even farther afield. Peeta could see, even from this distance, the distinctive lines of several Egyptian merchant vessels. "What ratio war vessels to merchant?"

"Seventeen war vessels," Marvel said. "The rest are merchantcraft. We shall be at risk from pirates, if we sail very far south." His last sentence was both statement and question. Peeta had, as yet, confided none of his plans to any of his lieutenants. Seven thousand Trojans were about to sail into the unknown, and to an as yet unknown destination, and Peeta wanted them to do so without question.

"The gods shall watch over us," Peeta said, then turned so he could look at Marvel. "Remember what happened to Pandrasus and his army."

Marvel grunted. What had happened to Pandrasus was a fading memory, both for the Trojans and the Dorians. Peeta had established his authority quickly and cruelly within days of taking Mesopotamia, and for months the Dorians had been so cowed, and so shocked, by the turn of events that there had been no resistance or questioning of anything Peeta ordered. But now there was a growing undertow of resentment and loathing within the Dorian community. Peeta's preparations for the outfitting of his fleet had stripped the city and its surrounding farming land of all its wealth, both of food and of gold. Everything Mesopotamia had was being poured, both literally and metaphorically, into Peeta's fleet.

Pandrasus himself had overcome the sloth and depression that had at first gripped him and was growing more confident, more ready to express openly his contempt of Peeta and the Trojans where before he had taken the effort to veil it. And more Dorians were following his example. Especially the cousins that Cato had urged Peeta to slew; but Peeta seemed resisting in the act of killing Gale and the siblings, and he had said the excuse that someone needed to watch over the city once they left. Still, Marvel had no doubt that sooner or later their resentment would explode into violence, and an attempt to wrest back from the Trojans everything they had won. Their departure could not be too soon for him

"The oar crews are training well," Cato said.

"Good," Peeta said, and both the companions with him could hear the relief in his voice. All the ships would require oar crews to augment their sails, some forty to sixty men per ship, and much of the past months had been spent training sufficient crews from among the Trojans. It had been difficult. Oar crews took years to train well, and generally only voyaging experience hardened them into mature crews, but the Mesopotamian Trojans had little practice at sea. Instead, the men and youths pressed into service generally spent hours per day on practice platforms that had been built along the shoreline. Experienced orderers, the men who beat the time for the oars, shouted and cursed in their efforts to get the trainees to stroke together, or to learn to back water, or to dip and hold, all maneuvers oar crews needed to learn in order to control a ship.

Sails were all very well, but too often the waters of the Mediterranean lay be calmed... and Peeta did not have enough provisions to feed the entire fleet while they drifted about aimlessly.

"We must leave soon," Cato said, unable to stop herself glancing at the waters of the shadowy Acheron River as it emptied itself into the bay. "It is midsummer now, and we will not have many months left before the autumn storms begin to bite. No matter how enthusiastic, our oar crews are not good enough to deal with the anger of the autumn storms. When, Peeta, when?"

"Within the week," Peeta said. "We will leave within the week."

"Where?" Marvel said softly.

"Clove will guide us," Peeta said, then he smiled, as if he had suddenly realized the concern of the two men. "A day's sail south of this bay is an island. There Clove is waiting for me. There she will show me the path which we travel." He turned, as if to go, (ignoring the contort of annoyance and confusion on the men's faces, as they did not know this Clove), then stopped as he caught sight of a figure standing atop the walls of Mesopotamia.

Even at this distance he knew who it was.

Katniss.

Beside Peeta, Cato hissed as he, too, recognized the figure.

Katniss moved a little, perhaps uncomfortable under the regard of the two men, and as she did so a shadow suddenly poured from her, as wine pours forth from a ewer, and slithered down the city walls and across the ground to where the three men stood. It touched Peeta, enveloped him in its gloom, and traveled no farther.

"Sorcery!" Marvel said, grabbing Peeta and pulling him to one side. But as Peeta moved, so the shadow moved, and Peeta could not escape its touch.

Cato hissed again. "She is a witch, Peeta! Beware!"

"Witch?" said Peeta. "Surely not, unless hatred and scheming can brew sorcery of its own accord." He paused, not taking his eyes from Katniss' distant figure. "But I do not trust her." Again he stopped. "I have only just discovered that Katniss has been sending and receiving secret communications from... I know not who. She uses her nurse Tavia as her messenger."

Both Cato and Marvel exclaimed, and would have spoken save that Peeta continued. "No, you do not need to say it. I now watch her like a hawk."

"Kill her," said Marvel flatly.

"She carries my son."

"Then kill her once she bears him."

Peeta's black eyes gleamed with the small smile he gave. "There shall be no need, I think." He glanced at Cato, who had long ago been told the full extent of Glimmer's vision concerning Katniss' death. "Tell Marvel what Glimmer saw."

Cato nodded. The retelling of Katniss' forthcoming death was always an enjoyable experience for Glimmer and she'd made it so for him, too, having so much unease toward the strange woman. "She will die with a sword in her belly in the dank harbor of a peasant's shelter the instant Peeta's son has slithered from her body," he said. "Glimmer has seen this." He looked back to Peeta. "But I agree with Marvel. Kill her now."

"No. She carries my–"

"Peeta, listen to me! See this shadow! Do you remember, when we were traveling here, and we stoop atop that hill overlooking Mesopotamia? I said I could see a darkness crawling down the river toward the city? It came from Hades' Underworld. Look at this shadowy darkness crawling toward you now. Peeta, can you not understand what I am saying?"

Peeta glanced at his wife–she still stood, watching them, and it seemed that in that moment the shadow deepened about them–then looked back to Cato. "No. I can't. What do you mean?"

"Katniss was born and raised and fed by the evil that crawled out of Hades' Underworld down the river to Mesopotamia," Cato said. "She is Hades' daughter, not Pandrasus', not some whores. Thank the gods we have to endure only a few more months of her." He paused. "For otherwise, my friend, if she continued to draw breath, then I think–I know–she has the power to destroy your entire world."

* * *

Glimmer stood in the doorway of the bakery, watching the people bustle up and down the streets. She thought that a casual observer would believe that Mesopotamia was, and had always been, a Trojan city, for it was the people of his blood who filled the streets, hastening between market and home, baths and city square, their hair now recut and partly regrown to blot out forever the signs of their slavery.

In contrast to the Trojan presence, there was hardly a Dorian to be seen. Ever since Peeta had subjected the city the Dorians had kept to their homes: silent and watching.

Glimmer grinned, folding her arms and leaning her shoulders against the warm stone wall of the building. Doubtless the Dorians stayed at home because they now had so many chores to occupy them. Where once despised Trojan slaves had dusted the hearth, folded the linens, and cooked the Dorian's daily meat, now the Dorians had to do these onerous tasks for themselves. The Trojans were free, and none had any taste for aiding their former masters in their daily grind.

Glimmer suddenly caught sight of Katniss, walking slow and heavy through the streets. Her face was lowered, one hand was resting on her belly, her body constantly twisting and turning to avoid the Trojans who pushed heedless past her. Glimmer's smile died.

Few among the Trojans liked Katniss. Not only was she a Dorian, but she was not the most friendliest.

Glimmer would not have blamed Peeta for taking her to his bed–she was legitimate spoil of war, after all–but to name her his wife? Glimmer drew in a sharp, hateful breath.

Katniss barely spoke to anyone save her nurse, Tavia, or Primrose, the whoreish daughter of the king, pregnant by no one that she confessed to. Glimmer hadn't seen Katniss pass more than a few words with Peeta in all the months they'd been together. She shuddered, then glared. Peeta no doubt didn't require her to be particularly articulate in bed.

Then Katniss was upon her, and Glimmer inclined her head in an icy greeting, green eyes burning.

Katniss' face was red and sweating from the climb and the weight she carried in her belly, and her arms, Glimmer noted, were much thinner than once they had been. Peeta's son was draining her of all her plumpness. Only some seven months ago she would have had a litter borne by sweating Trojan slaves to carry her to her palace in comfort. Now she was nothing but the sweating, exhausted litter for Peeta's son.

"I am glad to see Peeta's son grow so well," Glimmer said, her lips twisting with her bitter words.

"Or daughter!" Katniss said, stopping to catch her breath. "Who knows? Peeta may be capable of siring only girls."

"I say a son," Glimmer said mildly, watching her face and thinking that Katniss must truly despise her husband. "All know I am a potent seer."

She opened her mouth, but could patently think of no response. Instead, Katniss wiped a straggle of her hair from her forehead, gathered her skirt in her other hand, and stepped back into the climb.

Glimmer watched her as she stepped out of view around a corner, then her eyes flickered upward to an opened window in one of the houses lining the street. A Dorian man was leaning out slightly, his eyes tracking Katniss. As she disappeared, the man turned, and saw Glimmer staring at him. He grinned, insolent, then leaned out for the wooden shutter and banged it closed as he stepped back into the room.

Glimmer's face went expressionless. That had not been the face of a cowed and humiliated man.

* * *

Pandrasus sat in his small chamber in the palace he had once called his own, and waited for his false daughter to join him. His Trojan captors constantly moved him from chamber to chamber, as if they wanted him to experience the discomforts of every pitiful cramped room they could find, and this chamber was particularly bad. It was bare of all ornamentation–there was not even any plaster on the walls, let alone painted murals–had nothing but a rush matting floor, and its window was small and all but useless as it opened onto a back courtyard that the butchers used for their slaughtering.

His chamber was constantly filled with the stink of blood and burst entrails and, even worse, the sound of cheerful Trojan voices as they discussed their impending departure. Pandrasus' face twisted in a grim smile. Once he had found that talk disagreeable beyond measure. Now he found it amusing. If only they knew.

The king stood, impatient for Katniss' arrival, and brushed down his waistcloth. It was creased and stained. No one now came to robe him, and none to wash and brush his linens. Pandrasus the king was served no longer, save by his vengeful thoughts, and by his sweet daughter, who brought to him what she could beg or steal from the Trojans who now cavorted about the palace. When all was done, and the Trojans dead, Pandrasus knew he would need to spend months repairing the palace from their carelessness, and airing it from their stink.

There was a step in the door, and Pandrasus looked to it eagerly. "Katniss! Beloved daughter!"

She walked to meet him, limping slightly from what Pandrasus thought was likely a sprain caused by being forced to walk so far in her condition, and embraced him. Both she and Pandrasus leaned away from her bulging belly, both hating it equally; somehow he had developed something kind toward the girl he'd watched nurture his Primrose over the years.

"Sit," Pandrasus said, taking her arm and guiding her to the single bench his captors had allowed him, abhorring the grateful sigh she made as she finally relieved her legs of her weight. If Pandrasus thought he could wrench that child from Katniss' belly without causing her any harm in the doing he would have torn her apart in a moment. Every time he saw her, that belly had grown just that bit more. And every time Pandrasus saw that belly, he was reminded of how it had been made, and his mind's eye saw this woman pinned beneath Peeta's body, and every time he thought of that, he vowed revenge. It was after all, him, who had given her to him.

And how strange, he now thought, sitting by Katniss and taking her hand, that the revenge should have come from this girl. No, girl no longer. These past seven months had turned Katniss into a woman, and her humiliation at Peeta's hands had turned her mind from things all of Primrose to schemes of revenge.

"You are tired," Pandrasus said. "I have some wine. Would you–"

"No, Father. I paused to drink on my way to you. Save it for yourself." She heaved a sigh, and patted her belly. "It grows larger each day." Her mouth twisted. "And each time it moves within me I am reminded of my purpose. And yours."

"Aye. Did you…?"

Her eyes flitted to the door, knowing she must watch every word spoken. "Yes. All is well."

"And ready?" His voice was soft, and both fearful and hopeful. So much rested on her reply.

She nodded, her eyes shining, and the hand on her belly clenched into a fist. "Yes. The final ships have arrived." She raised her eyebrows significantly at her father.

Pandrasus drew in a deep breath, keeping his excitement under control. The final ships had arrived… "From Nichoria?"

"Yes."

"And their cargo?"

"Undamaged," she said, very low. "And undiscovered. The ships arrived at night, and disgorged their payload on the coast some two hours' sail south of the Mesopotamian bay. Needless to say" –her eyes flickered once more toward the door– "I am sure that payload is now much, much closer."

Pandrasus' tongue crept over his lips, tasting the revenge that was now so close.

Katniss had worked tirelessly these past few months, using Tavia to conduct the secret negotiations (and the necessary threats) between himself and Podarces, ensuring that all was in its set place, using her quick mind to solve any potential hurdle. Their revenge was brilliant not only in its audacity and potential, but in its ability both to defeat and humiliate the Trojans. It was Troy all over again. The ships that Peeta had forced Pandrasus to requisition carried not only Peeta's hopes, but also his doom.

* * *

Five days after Katniss' shadow had fallen across him, Peeta gave the order to load the fleet for sailing. The ships were already stocked with nonperishables: thousands of amphora filled with water, wine, oil, honey, grains, herbs, nuts, preserved eggs, dried vegetables and fruits and stoppered tight against the sea; spare linen sails and fiber ropes, enough to refit half the fleet if need be; woolen wraps and blankets against the night cold; vials of medicines and unguents; and those most useful household items that could not be left behind — utensils, pots, tools, looms, spindles, and baskets.

Tucked into the holds of the deepest merchant ships were stacks of gold and silver and baskets of gems; Pandrasus' wealth, given into the keeping of the Trojan fleet.

Now the rafts floating goods out to the ships were filled with more perishable items: three score of milking goats and ewes, as well as a few billy goats and rams; cheeses, meats, and fresh fruits; broths of beans and pulses; fresh cakes of maza and turon.

Peeta did not know how long they would need to sail, nor what they could garner along the way, and he fretted night and day as to whether or not they would have enough to sustain seven thousand mouths during this unknowable voyage.

At night, when the palace was quiet, he knelt before an altar to Artemis he'd found tucked away in a chamber just off the megaron and prayed to Clove for guidance and the wisdom to direct his orders. He knew they were now the one and same, more or less.

He could barely wait until the fleet had sailed and he could reach the island where Clove had promised to meet him. He'd included a pure white goat in the cargo of his own ship, meaning to take it to the island and sacrifice it to the goddess in thanks for her aid and blessing. Then, much later at night, when he had returned to the chamber he shared with Katniss and lay by her side, he wondered at Glimmer's words.

Hades' daughter, she'd called this girl.

Sometimes–when Clove came to relieve him for a night of her reins– he rolled over to face Katniss, and placed a gentle hand on her belly, feeling his child move within her. At those times he would also feel her muscles tense with her hatred, and he would feel his heart twist. He had done this to her. He knew even if he sent her away while he was himself, when Clove put those bands back on the other him would demand her back to him; he could not win in a fight against himself.

Again and again he regretted taking her in marriage (both because of how much everyone hated her when he wasn't him and how much he hated causing her torment those few times he was), and taking her with such pain and violence that first night both sides regretted that, but every time he felt the movement of his child his regrets would fade, and he felt only the wonder of the new growing life.

* * *

The night before the Trojans would sail, Clove appeared before him just as he made to enter his wife's chamber, very late. He had spent most of the evening on the beach supervising the loading of the last of the livestock, then the earlier part of the night praying to Clove.

Now, she was before him. She smiled, a little too innocent and Peeta felt a jab of anger. "He's not dead." It was not a question. Six months had passed and Hades was still alive. "I held up my deal of this bargain, will you?"

Clove's smile died and she grabbed Peeta by the chin in one of her small hands. She jerked his face down to hers. "I am doing the best I can. I have lost my best ally to Hera, that spiteful bitch, who just won't _die_. Seeder was all I had, besides you and Aphrodite. And we both now you foremother died for us, in combat with Zeus, teamed with his brother, Poseidon."

"Which leaves Hades," Peeta pointed out, a hand grasping Clove's wrist and pulling it from his face. He held tight to the limb. "Why am I here, Clove? In Mesopotamia. There's more a reason than freeing my people. Cato pointed out something interesting to me a few days ago; we are so near Hades' realm here."

"Oh, you are so clever, my king," Clove said and tipped her face forward to press her lips into his.

Peeta responded to the kiss generously before pulling away. "You want me to kill him?"

"If you can," Clove said, her eyes bright. She had always believed in him, where he never had. "When I sent you in this direction, I told you there was a test you were going to have to pass. _This_ is that test."

"How?" Peeta could not imagine facing a god. He had never even been able to defeat Clove; and compared to an Olympian she was a nymph. He wasn't even sure how to kill a god.

One of her hands strayed to his cheek, caressed it, then danced down his arm to the golden band there. "These," she said, running a thumb over the metal surface. She moved, to press herself into Peeta's chest, a calf rubbing against the gold bands on his legs.

She felt Peeta stiffen, crossed between pulling away and embracing her.

"I did not know they did anything but make me.. compliant.. I'm not even sure.. how that works. Sometimes I know what I'm doing, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I forget the other me exists.." this seemed to be a time that he remembered, though, and he leaned away from Clove's touches. "What power do they possess?"

"Kingship," she said. "See the roses? Branded within the gold? They are a symbol of a god that has long ago disappeared. He never had an official title. There was no where he did not travel and poison; hence he became known to us as a god of poison and chaos and pain."

"Are you saying that you killed this god and have given me his things? Within these bands is his power?" Peeta asked her, suddenly very weary.

"I am saying that these bands used to cling to his limbs, and they possess a shadow of his power. You can draw from them, if you are properly motivated. Now that you know, can you feel him? Lingering over your skin? Seeping in your veins?"

_Like poison? _Peeta thought vaguely. And he could feel it. There was something always malevolent about the bands, but now that Clove had brought to light their qualities they seemed to reek of some other musky, foul scent. He eyed Clove, for he did not trust her in any form. "You speak as though he is not dead."

He knew it took everything within her not to look away from his steady gaze. "He isn't."

"Would he not stand in our way?" Peeta asked. "You talked as though others feared him. And rightly so. These are stolen from him. Don't you think he'll want them back?"

"Zeus feared him once," Clove said, shrugging. She was unconcerned. "So he had the god imprisoned within the body of a mortal man, and so that he would never find these golden bands again, Zeus gave them to Artemis and ordered her to secret them within the woodlands and forest, never to be found."

Peeta understood now. "So you killed her and took her knowledge and used her gifts to find these bands." Clove nodded. "I wonder what I shall do the day this mortal man finds me and sees me wearing his bands."

"You or I will kill him. But it is unlikely. Zeus banished him to such a far corner of the earth that it would takes decades for anyone to travel that far, by ship, or by land."

Peeta was still uncertain about the fact, that these bands were his power and Clove's control over him, as well as something that belonged to another. However, he would not argue with her over it. He found he couldn't. Not until Clove sighed and began to pull the bands from his limbs. Once all were off, his blue eyes stared at her, he drew in a deep breath and brushed passed her and entered the bedchamber he'd originally been heading toward.

* * *

Inside, he knew his anxiety about the coming day would keep him wakeful, and when he lay down beside Katniss, he placed a gentle hand on her belly, and spoke. "Have you said your good-byes to your father? And your sister? Tomorrow will be a crowded and busy day, and it is possible you will be so hurried onto our ship that you will lose your chance to kiss them farewell."

For a moment he thought she would continue her pretense at sleep, but then she sighed, and opened her eyes. She studied him, noted every little detail about his face and Peeta felt his stomach twist. He knew she was checking to see if he was clear eyed. He wondered if she'd made the connection of the bands and his eyes, and hoped she hadn't.

"My family and I have nothing more to say to each other. All that could be said, has been said."

"Are you angry, Katniss, that I drag you away from your childhood home?" He tried to keep the sadness from his voice, and knew he failed when she turned her face away; obviously not keen on making nice when just last night he had come in here merely to heave over her.

Peeta felt his face heat up in his own anger at himself and at the crude way he treated her and knew it.

"What do you think? Am I happy that my father was humiliated and destroyed by Trojans? No! Am I joyful that you murdered my people? No! Am I happy that you then seized me and put this child in me? No! Leave me here, I pray you, Peeta, and I swear before the gods that I will remember you kindly."

He laughed softly–both amusement and pain in his tone–, his hand caressing her belly, then her thigh. "Everyone begs me to leave you behind, but I cannot. Perhaps we should put our hatred away, Katniss, and play at being a true husband and wife together. Make the best of what is." _My other side won't let you go, no matter how much I tell him to. Even if I say yes now, when Clove slips those bands back onto me I will order one of my men to bring you to me in the morning._

"Why? You have destroyed everything I loved. You are taking away the only person I loved."

Peeta bit down a flare of sharpness inside him. Somehow, he felt a thought surface, dark and poisoned; _who is that? That boy-woman, Gale? _And he remembered black-eyed Peeta's resentment toward that general when he first raped her. It nettled him more than he'd like; and he did not know why it would, for Katniss was his and with his child. Both those things he regrets.

His eyes were focused on his hand gently moving up her arm and he savored the fact that she was not shuddering in disgust. "The first night.. you told me I could trust you. I will tell you something I have not even told my companions. Let this be our first marriage act with one another. Trust." Peeta's eyes lifted to her face and she was watching him cautiously, timidly, ready to rip herself from him if she found it needed.

It was better than the night she had ordered him from her bed and he had listened.

"We go to rebuild Troy," Peeta breathed, watching her face. Her eyebrows creased. "Does that not excite you? I will make you a queen, and burden you with jewels, and you shall be the envy of every woman and the lust of every man in the world."

There was no glint of lust or greed in her eyes like Peeta would expect in Glimmer's and Clove's. Hers remained guarded and steely. "I want to stay here. I want to stay with my father, and my sister, and I want you gone." One of her small hands had clenched into a fist, and she beat it gently against her taut belly as she spoke.

"I cannot turn back time, Katniss." Vaguely the happier side of Peeta amused itself with the wonder if there was a god out there who could, or a nymph, maybe a sprite–he would not doubt it. "For the love of the gods, and for.. for your sister, will you.. learn to live with what is? You are carrying my child. I am not going to leave you behind."

"I wanted Gale," she said, suddenly, sharply. It was a snap directed right at him. He saw the purpose in her eyes and felt even more stung that she was purposely driving the knife right in his sweet spot. "I loved Gale! I did not want you. I will never love you! No matter how many times you come here sweet and honest!"

Peeta moved closer to her, her mention of Gale stirring him to jealousy and resentment as it always did. She might have loved Gale, and still love his memory, but Gale was not the one who she lay with at night, nor the one to get her so large with child. _Why did she not forget the boy?_

His voice was soft. "I do not need your love, Katniss," and when he said it, his face became tender. He knew she would never love him. He did not love her; she was only another reason to hate himself, another guilt added to his list, someone he would always owe for the way he abused her. "I do not even require it of you. But I am your husband, and that bond allows me to demand your loyalty and your service, as it binds me to your protection and care." Peeta struggled for a moment to find the rights words, "If I could leave you, I would."

Katniss shook her head and lay perfectly still. She was done with him. There was no fighting for tonight, nothing he could say that would break through the layer of contempt the other him had put up around her; the real Peeta couldn't touch Katniss no matter how hard he tried.

He shifted, preparing to hold her until she slept. But as he moved, she turned her face back to him and opened her deep grey eyes, and said, "Did you know that whenever you lie with me I imagine that you are Gale? That the reason I respond as I do to you is by repeating Gale's name as a mantra over and over and over in my mind?"

He froze, shocked and angry, and furious at himself for allowing her words to sting so deeply. She was lying, he knew it…surely? No woman could have one man make love to her and yet keep another man's face and name at the forefront of her mind…could she?

Peeta felt a bleak tide of his other half overwhelm him. He recalled what Clove said; about the poison seeping into his, leaving the bands, becoming a part of him.

Katniss watched him carefully, and as she saw his reaction her mouth curved in a cold smile. "Of course, Gale would have had more stamina than you," she said. "He was so much strong. So much more athletic."

Peeta pulled away from her, hating her words and afraid of himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting, head in hands, trying to bring his temper under control.

"Far more desirable," she whispered, and he heard her shift on the bed, as if in an agony of wanting.

It was too much. He swung back to her, grabbing one of her wrists in his hand, and jerked her across the bed to him. A breathless anger shoved itself done his throat and when he met her frantic gaze, he knew she was seeing his eyes blackening.. he could taste the poison on his tongue.

But it was power, too.

"You wouldn't dare!" she hissed. "I carry your son. You wouldn't dare."

"Then beware of the day you no longer carry that child. Beware the day."

"On the contrary, _beloved_," she said, the word an insult, "I look forward to it greatly." Then she rolled away from him, made herself comfortable with some ostentatious fuss, and pretended to fall into sleep.

* * *

Oh, his expression! I had wanted to say that to him for months, to taunt him, to insult him. And to watch his face redden as my barbs hit home, to watch the hurt in his eyes. It partly repaid him for all the humiliation he'd put me through in the past months.

Another day, and he would be dead.

Peeta took some time to lay back down to sleep, and I wondered if I'd been as clever as I'd initially thought. I couldn't afford to have him awake all the night through. Should I have to turn, and say something sweet to placate him? The thought made my stomach turn, but if I had to...

No, praise Hera. Eventually I heard the deep regular breathing of sleep. To be sure, I lay awake for many hours, enjoying the sense of happiness and anticipation that flooded through me.

Tomorrow night Peeta would be gone, and all the other Trojans either dead with him or re-enslaved into such bondage it would be the ruination of all their hopes. Tomorrow night my king and Primrose would again be supreme within Mesopotamia, laughing together as we surveyed the destruction that had been wrought. Tomorrow night I could prevail upon Tavia to feed me those herbs that would cause me to birth this hateful baby before its time. Then neither of us would need fear Peeta's wrath at the murder of his son. Tomorrow night I would sit and watch the horrid thing between my legs, bathed in its birth blood, gasping for–yet never gaining–air, and I would laugh with delight as it died, as Peeta's hopes would die during this coming day.

I paused a moment on that. His hopes. To rebuild Troy? The thought was both laughable and breathtaking. He promised me queen-ship, and I did not want it. Not next to him. Not anyone. Power wasn't something I felt comfortable holding. But.. that very thought.. a new Troy, risen where? How? When? Part of my soul was spinning with curiosity...

… the other half only thought of tomorrow.

These past months would vanish as if they had never been…

Tomorrow night…tomorrow night…tomorrow night all these things would come to pass.

But first, as Peeta slept, I needed to spend the darkest hour on one last task to ensure that tomorrow night was indeed all that I could hope.

Silently sending my nightly prayer of thanks to that strange goddess with the black hair who had come to me in dream and told me what to do (Hera might be weak beyond telling, but her distant sister was proving more than beneficial), I sat up carefully and looked at Peeta's face. He was deeply asleep, his face slack, his chest moving in slow, lumberous breaths.

I slid from the bed and reached for a loose gown to pull about my bulky nakedness.


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: Long time no see, huh? I disown, as usual. Thanks for reading, sorry for typos. Reviews are love.

* * *

Chapter Four

The instant Katniss slipped from the room, Peeta's eyes flew open.

He rose, snatching at his waistband and cloth, then trod silently to the door.

_What was she doing?_

He had not slept. Instead, Peeta had lain seething beside Katniss, controlling his breathing and muscles so she would not know he was awake, wondering how he could rid himself of her once she'd borne his son. Her vicious words had upset him beyond knowing–and he was angry that he was so upset. He had gone out of his way to be kind to her over these past months... and to repay him with such vituperation... Cato was right. Glimmer was right. Everyone who had spoken to him wary words about the bitch he'd taken to wife was right.

The instant she birthed his son he would rid himself of her. The very instant...

Peeta had been lost in a fantasy of tipping Katniss over the side of a ship for the giant marine worms to consume–he standing watching as he cradled his newly-born son–when he felt her rise. At first Peeta thought she was just using the chamber pot, or perhaps wishing to wash, as she usually did. But instead she slipped from the chamber, and his mind instantly flared with suspicion. There was no need for her to leave the chamber at this hour of the night.

At the door Peeta peered carefully up and down the corridor's length. It was the main thoroughfare of the royal chambers of the palace, and at this hour of the deep night it was expectantly silent and still. Save for the soft tread of Katniss' feet.

Peeta slipped silently into the corridor, following the sound of Katniss' footsteps, and thanking the gods, mostly Clove, that she was so awkwardly pregnant now that graceful, silent movements were long since unachievable and that the small oil lamp she carried threw flickering shadows that he could follow at a safe distance.

Still, she moved quickly enough for her bulk, and Peeta had some trouble keeping her in view, yet staying hidden himself.

She left the main corridor for a narrower passage used for servant access, then leaving that in turn for a staircase that wound down through several levels into the basements of the palace. Peeta was sweating now, not from any effort required to keep up with Katniss, but because of the increased risk of discovery in this narrow, winding stairwell. He could keep out of sight of his wife, for the glow of her lamp guided him, but of necessity he had to climb down in the dark, and Peeta was concerned that he should trip, and so alert Katniss to his presence. But the gods were with him, and he reached the bottom of the stairwell without mishap.

He looked slowly, infinitely carefully, about the corner of the stairwell. There was a flash of blue linen–Katniss' gown–in a doorway that had been so cunningly concealed within racks holding a legion of dusty and cracked amphora that Peeta would otherwise have walked straight by it. Even so, by the time he'd worked out exactly where it was, several minutes had passed, and Peeta was worried Katniss would have slipped away completely in that time.

Again the gods were with him.

When Peeta stepped carefully through the door, he saw that Katniss' lamp glowed not far distant, around one turning of a short corridor. There was a soft murmur of voices, and Peeta's heart beat harder.

With the utmost care, tense and ready to flee the instant the lamp glow moved back toward him or the voices drew closer, Peeta crept down to the turning. He thought of peering about, but his innate caution won out, and so he pressed himself against the stone wall, and listened.

"You came safe?" he heard Katniss say.

"Aye." A man's voice, deep and confident. "Although the tunnel to this place was damp and running with filth. You could have told us it was a sewer."

If Peeta was not so consumed with anger, he might have smiled at that.

"How many?" Katniss said.

"All you requested."

"And you have arms?"

"Aye, more than enough to equip three times our number."

"Good." Peeta could hear the satisfaction in Katniss' voice, and it was all he could do to keep his rage under control. A daughter of Hades,_ indeed! _"You will follow me up these corridors," Katniss said, and Peeta tensed, ready to move, "and I will show you the way to the streets outside. Hide yourself until it is time. Now, be quiet, for the palace sleeps about us!"

* * *

By the time Katniss arrived back in her chamber, no doubt tired and anxious lest her husband had awoken during her absence, Peeta was back in bed, his face slack, his chest drawing in the long, slow breaths of deepest sleep.

Peeta felt her slip into the bed. He closed his eyes tighter; worried beyond knowing. _How he wished he hadn't followed her. _If he, as himself, didn't know, than the one under Clove's command wouldn't either. Even now, as himself, he felt the other side of him brewing with anger. As he is now, himself, true Peeta, he was relieved, not upset, really, about Katniss' plan to murder him. He would like to die, before he managed to hurt anyone else on this power hungry quest that he long ago mistakenly followed.

How he wished he hadn't married her.

Now, he knew, deep inside him, the black-eyed Peeta liked her too much to let her go.

Which is strange, because black-eyed Peeta doesn't even like himself, or Clove, or women.

Black-eyed Peeta only ever wanted power and immortality and the restoration of himself and his people.

Not women. Never women.

Oh, how he wished with his beseeching blue eyes, that she would succeed in killing him.

But it is a stupid hope, because black-eyed Peeta already knew what he'd do to stop her.

* * *

"You were right to warn me of Katniss," Peeta said, his voice dangerously expressionless, "and right to think that some Dorian mischief is planned."

Treachery aside, her vicious words regarding Gale were still what played over and over in his mind. It fed his anger, made his ebony irises grow more potent. He took a deep breath, and looked about at the men in Marvel's house: Marvel himself, Cato, Glimmer, and several other of his senior officers and Trojan men from Pandrasus' former slave community.

Peeta had risen just before dawn, murmured to Katniss as she mumbled a query that he wanted to check the final preparations for the boarding and that he would send for her later, and come to Marvel's house, shouting that he wanted his senior commanders and leaders of the Trojan community here within the half hour.

"What has she done?" Glimmer asked.

Peeta briefly told them of what he had seen and heard during the night.

"How many?" Cato said.

"I do not know. Many, I am sure. And with enough weapons to further equip Dorian men."

"Where are they now?" Idaeus, a trusted officer asked.

Peeta shrugged. "Hidden in small groups deep within the city, but I do not know the exact 'where.' If they are experienced enough, and we must assume they are, they would not take the risk of hiding in one single large group."

"They could have disguised themselves as laborers or carriers by now," Marvel said, "their weapons hid within sacks of barley or beneath cloaks."

"You would not recognize strangers?" Peeta asked.

"Maybe one or two, here and there," Marvel said. "But not only do these armed men need to be out on the street for I, or any other, to recognize them as strangers, finding them in ones and twos is going to take several weeks…"

"And they will strike today," Peeta said, wiping a hand across his stubbly chin, wishing he'd had the time to shave this morning. "But how and when will they strike? Cato? Idaeus? If you were commanding this group, and you needed to stop a crowd of seven thousand leaving this city, how would you do it?"

Cato and glanced at each other, each knowing they thought the same thing. "It would be easier than you perhaps imagine," Idaeus said. "In order to move the Trojans down to the beaches to board the ships, they will first need to leave their houses and walk down through the streets. Seven thousand people, through narrow and confining streets, the greater majority of whom will be women and children and grandparents who will panic and mill in confusion the instant an attack is started... it will be a slaughter, Peeta. Especially if they have twenty or thirty men at the gates to slam them shut at the critical moment. Even with the gates open, people will not be able to move through quick enough."

"These armed men need not number more than two hundred," Cato put in, "to create havoc and death. And remember, you said they had arms to equip three times their number of Dorians."

"But if I move my men onto the streets," Peeta began.

"Where, Peeta?" Glimmer said. "We do not know from which point these men will strike... and our men, to cover the entire length of the streets, will be spread too thin to be of much use."

Peeta stared at her for a moment, when Marvel cut in, "Can we send our men through the city to find them?"

"The Dorians will have hid them well," Peeta said dismissively. "And it would take too long. We must leave today. The ship captains say the winds and tides will turn by tomorrow morning, and we shall have to wait many more weeks for another suitable sailing. But by then it will be too late anyway, as the autumn storms will have set in and sailing with so many heavily loaded craft will be too dangerous."

"So," Cato said, looking about the group, "we must leave today, yet if we move our people out into the streets there is likely to be a slaughter."

Marvel remembered how that goddess had aided Peeta against Pandrasus' army. "That goddess?" he said. "Clove? Is that what she is called?"

Nearly all his officers leaned in to hear Peeta's reply.

Peeta was amused by their expressions and shook his head. "I do not think Clove will aid us here, my friend." He grinned wryly. "She may even have sent these soldiers to test us, to see if we are worthy. I would not put it behind her. We must make use of our own cunning in this instance." And Glimmer snorted, sitting easy in her chair; she recognized his calm, sweet voice for victory. He'd only humored them in calling this meeting. Peeta had known what he wanted to do already.

Peeta looked about the table much as Cato had. "Tell me, how will these armed men–strangers to this city–recognize Trojans from Dorians? Presumably Katniss and her father do not want a wholesale slaughter of their own people."

"But there will be only Trojans on the streets," Cato put in. "No Dorian will venture out, not if they know an attack is planned."

"But if the streets were crowded with both Dorians and Trojans," Peeta continued, apparently not the least bit put out by Cato's response, "how will the strangers recognize Trojan from Dorian?" His eyes were still amused, as Cato's face contorted to understand. Glimmer laughed aloud, causing Idaeus to jump in his chair.

"By the difference in our hair," Marvel said, waving his hand at his hairline as proof. "Every one of us have shorn our hair short to even up our hairlines from the mark of slavery. The Dorians, men and women both, have long, luxurious hair. Months have passed, yes, but not long enough for our hair to reach our shoulders. There is nothing, surely, we can do about that."

Glimmer laughed louder, the extent of Peeta's plan finally unfolding in her thoughts and with her vision. "Unless the Dorians have short hair as well!"

"What?" said Cato. "You think to shear every Dorian's hair within the space of a few hours?"

"Not every one," said Peeta, grinning at Glimmer, "but many, to be sure."

"Children," said Marvel.

"Aye," said Glimmer. "As many children as we can, and after that as many adults. Shear their hair to the same length as your growing tresses, Marvel."

"Yes," said Peeta slowly, as he thought, and then he, too, was grinning with the others in the room. "If I lend you some of your men, Marvel, you can force your way into enough homes, and shear enough of their curly locks to make a difference." He looked about. "And if Trojans took Dorian clothes, and spoke in the Dorian manner, then their Trojan features would fade into obscurity, and in the heat and haste of crowded streets strangers would find it all but impossible to tell them apart."

About the room the officers murmured agreement, nodding.

"Then send out your men," Peeta said to Marvel and Idaeus. "And arm them well with sharpened shears."

"But this will only work to our advantage if the streets are crowded with Dorians as well," Idaeus pointed out. "How do you intend to manage that?"

Peeta's smile stretched in a mischievous way and he nodded at Glimmer, who was leaning over the table toward her commander. She had the same spark in her apple green eyes as him, as he gave her his orders. "Tell the bakers to stoke their ovens, and to leave the doors ajar. With straw and spare lumber laid out before them. When Mesopotamia catches fire, the Dorians will flee into the streets in as great a number as we could wish."

"This will take time to organize," Cato observed.

"Aye," Peeta said. "We will delay our departure until the early afternoon–that should give people enough time to prepare. I'll tell Katniss that there's been some problem with the ships."

"And what are you going to do with Katniss and Pandrasus?" Marvel said.

Peeta's face lost its smile. "Ensure neither lays an obstacle in our path again," he said.

* * *

As the group broke up, Peeta drew Cato aside. "My friend, can we talk alone a moment?

"There is something I need to tell you," Peeta said, in a low voice to Cato.

"Yes?" his friend inquired, arching a blonde eyebrow.

"Hades lives in this city."

"What? How do you know this? A god does not remain on earth."

No. Not truly. "Clove told me." _My bands told me. _"Have you not wondered what it was you felt in this city, coming from that river? You were clever to see it. Tell me, how does a rich man get power?"

"Through money."

"And a clever man?"

"Through knowledge."

"And a god?"

Cato faltered. "I do not know. They were born with it?"

"No." Peeta's eyes were laughing. "A god always hungers for more power, Cato. Have you not wondered why the Catastrophe came about as city upon city fell to ruins? That was the gods. They were – _are_ – at war. Each god draws from a city or a people or a land for strength. From a godwell."

"A godwell?"

"Have you not wondered why most cities are devoted to a specific god? Because those cities are, in a matter of sense, claimed by a god or goddess. They draw their strengths from godwells beneath cities and about cities and the only reason Mesopotamia has not burned in this war is because it had not declared a god. But in truth, it is owned. By Hades. This is Hades' strength we sit upon. He is a clever man for not proclaiming it out loud." Peeta smiled. "Clove is clever for having found that out."

Cato was still confused; he was a bit thick headed at times, but Peeta trusted him. That was why he had pulled Cato aside to tell him and not Glimmer, and certainly not Marvel. "Today, we will find Hades' godwell and destroy it."

Cato, still bemused in his eyes, nonetheless managed a rugged smile for his leader. There was the brightness of fighting in his eyes. "That does not sound easy."

"Aye."

"Sounds like you'll need a strong warrior at your side."

"Aye."

Cato tossed out an elbow and knocked it against Peeta's ribs. "Then lead the way."

"One more thing," Peeta said. He hesitated.

"Very well, out with it."

"The godwell exists in this one insignificant city, and surely it will work against us. It will protect the city, not only Hades, and most certainly not us. Or any other Trojan for that matter. If we misstep, we kill everyone."

Cato considered this. "And the Dorians?"

"They shall look about themselves, at our dead bodies, and wonder what god to thank." Peeta voice was grim. "Do you remember Achilles?"

"What?" Cato wondered if he was ever going to find a safe harbor in this conversation; Peeta kept knocking him sideways every time he drew breath.

"Even though Troy was devoted to Aphrodite, and it was her who gifted Paris the fair Helen when he proclaimed Aphrodite superior to both Athena and Hera," Peeta said, "but in truth, the city was Athena's. She hated the Trojans for Paris' favoring of Aphrodite, and she did not like the Greeks, either. Unfortunately for Paris, Athena had others cities with godwells to draw from, and she found no reason to actively protect Troy. She did not use her powers within the walls to protect her city, but still, a little involuntary power was left, defending the city against its Greek invaders. Otherwise Troy could not have held out so long. Correct?"

Cato considered the question for traps, then decided there were none. "Correct."

"And what did Achilles do?"

Cato stared, dumbfounded. Was this a history lesson? He did not even truly understand the godwell concept. He said only what he knew; "He killed Hector, and.." he forgot the rest.

"Yes. Achilles drove his chariot about Troy seven times, countersunwise," Peeta said, "dragging poor dead Hector with him, tied to the chariot by a foot. He unwound the protection of the godwell that Athena had put. I do not know how he knew, but he had figured out her clever trap. Achilles undermined the magical 'walls' of Troy."

"He outsmarted the traps Athena put around her city and godwell. Got it." Cato nodded studiously. "What you're saying.. is that we must find Mesopotamia's trigger as Achilles found out Troy's? And then we flip it around on itself. That way, the godwell is ours, it'll protect us and if we destroy it, it'll weaken Hades." He understood suddenly, what Peeta wanted from this; Hades' loss of a godwell would make him virtually powerless, if not be a blow that killed him, lest fatally injure. _And where would all his power go?_ _To the man that killed him? _Cato felt something in his gut tell him that he did not want Peeta to have that power.

He wanted it.

Peeta nodded his head slowly, his eyes thoughtful. "There will be traps, perhaps. But somewhere in this city, Cato, lies the true godwell. If we can destroy that..." He paused, as if wary of even speaking the words. "If we do that, then we flip the sides. The city won't protect Dorians, but Trojans. Hades' powers won't be his own, but ours..." _mine..._

"And then Mesopotamia will fall," said Cato, "more easily than did Troy." His voice deepened, became thick with bitterness; he was Trojan, after all. "And the Dorians will die more easily than did so many Trojans."

"Aye," Peeta said. He remembered suddenly, six months ago, when he had promised Katniss that he would leave Mesopotamia untouched. At least, part of him knew what he would end up doing to her.

"The others can manage the disguising of our people well enough," he said, voice unwavering as he turned back to Cato, and his mouth twisted, the movement devoid of all amusement. "Would you like to join me in the hunt, my friend?"

"We should start at the gates," Cato said. "It is where I would put _my_ godwell."

* * *

The city was quiet but tense as the two men strode down the virtually empty streets toward the gates.

Most Trojans were still ensconced in their homes, now hopefully following directions to disguise their persons into the most complete imitation of the Dorian demeanor possible. The Dorians, doubtless warned about the planned attack (although from a different source), were also tight within their homes, not daring to venture out (doubtless, many were now regretting that decision as bands of armed hair-cutters burst through their front doors).

Peeta and Cato, eyes moving warily from side to side as they walked, approached the gates that were still closed and tightly guarded by Trojan warriors; Marvel's warning of a possible surprise attack had patently already reached them.

"Where do you think?" said Peeta, standing before the walls, looking about.

Cato looked at the stone-flagged road immediately inside the gate. "Under these stones?"

Peeta shook his head. "No. If the godwell was stationed immediately inside the gate it would have been in full view. It would have been pointless placing it beneath paving stones."

"But full view is also dangerous…too easily accessible, so…"

"So," Peeta said, turning around and looking at the buildings in the immediate vicinity. "So…it would have been placed somewhere where it could be accessed, but only by those who needed to." He turned about slowly, his eyes tracing the contours of rooflines and alleyways. Suddenly he stopped, and pointed. "There." Just to the right of the inner set of gates was a solidly built guardhouse, set almost directly against the city walls.

"There will be a cellar," said Cato.

"Oh, aye. What better place than a guardhouse to hide something of immense value?" Peeta grinned, and clapped Cato on the shoulder. "Come, let's make some uses of these strong warriors of ours. I think I can see a heavy slab floor through that door."

The floor was indeed heavy slab and it took four of Peeta's strongest warriors to clear the room of various benches and weapons racks, then lift corners of sundry slabs to see if there were steps underneath any of them.

Peeta was heartily relieved when the eighth slab the men lifted in the northern corner of the room did indeed reveal steps: he wasn't sure what he feared more, being wrong about the existence of the godwell, or about its location. He didn't think the men would willingly follow him from one building to the next in the vague hope they might find hidden steps underneath the next lot of heavy slabs.

One of the men silently handed Peeta an oil lamp. He nodded his thanks, drew a deep breath of reverence – how long had it been since a living man had set eyes on the godwell within this city? – then motioned Cato to follow him down the steps.

The chamber below was much larger than the floor area of the guardhouse would have suggest. Its northern wall was formed by the lower masonry courses of the city wall itself, while the other three walls were of pale plastered brick. The construction was simple, the walls unadorned, for nothing mattered save the sign of Hades carved into the entire floor space.

"Is that.." Cato began, and Peeta nodded.

"A trap."

It was a unicameral maze, its lines chiseled into the stone slabs. The initial opening of the labyrinth lay directly before the base of the steps, marked at the entrance by a beautiful carving of intertwined flowers, _roses_, its path winding through circles and quadrants, ending in a rounded center that had been entirely swabbed in pitch.

Cato stepped down to join Peeta on the final step. They stood, arms touching, staring at the labyrinth in utter silence. "Dare I the maze?" Peeta whispered. This was Clove's test, he knew it as certainly as he knew he still breathed. And he also knew what this test implied. If Clove wanted him to rebuild Troy, then she also wanted him to employ the powers of the gods to do so. New Troy would be their godwell.

"Who else?" said Cato, not surprised to find his voice hoarse.

"Aye. Who else."

The man beside Peeta was shivering uncontrollably as he stared into the pitch circle. Things flashed before his eyes, too fast to know them, but he knew someone was trying to communicate with him. _What is it? _he thought agitatedly. _Out with it. _But nothing was forthcoming, he merely noted the flowers in the labyrinth and then turned to Peeta, a hand tracing the roses branded into the metal bands.

Peeta continued to stare at the trap for long minutes, then he motioned to Cato to stay where he was before briskly climbing up to the ground floor of the guardhouse. Cato could hear him as he walked out to the street, asking for a pail brimming with hot wet pitch and giving orders that the Trojans begin to leave their homes at noon.

Cato swallowed, suddenly nervous at what Peeta was going to do.

* * *

At noon, as Trojan men, women, and children began to file from their homes, a shout rose from a market street that abutted one of the most densely built and overcrowded sections of Mesopotamia. "Fire! Fire!" At first the shout was muted, as if it thought no one would pay heed, but then someone else noticed the smoke drifting from the rooflines of the houses, and he, too, screamed. "Fire! Fire!"

To these shouts were added those of Trojan men, who, dressed in the fine patterned tunics of Dorian citizens, ran through the streets, their voices panicked. "Fire! Fire! Fire!"

Then, as Dorians cautiously opened shutters and peered into the streets, the sound of the fire itself trickled along the streets; a snapping, a hissing, and then a twisting and a shattering, as if beams and tiles cracked and fell to stone floors in the heat of the conflagration. The fire could not yet be clearly seen, and it had not spread much beyond the half-dozen bake houses, but already it had done its worse damage; igniting panic among a citizenry who well knew that a fire within the tightly packed dense housing of a walled city was death incarnate.

* * *

Peeta took the brush and then the pail brimful of hot pitch from the soldier – who stood a long moment staring at the maze on the floor of the sub-chamber before remembering to let go of the pail's handle – and turned back to the chamber.

"I was only taught a little of power," he said. "I did not think I would ever encounter the gods so soon."

Cato didn't know what to say. As one of the few surviving remnants of Trojan nobility and heir to Aeneas' line, Peeta had been taught more things than Cato on principal, but he had never known someone could be taught to wield power. Not the god's kind of power. "It is weak," he said, laying a reassuring hand on Peeta's shoulder. He does not where the words derive from, but he cannot tears his eyes from the heart of black. "Barely alive. It still casts some protective enchantment over Mesopotamia, but if I am right, it does not hold enough power to truly hurt you."

Peeta gave a very small, wry grin. "I wonder why your phrases 'if I am right' and 'not hold enough power to truly hurt you' do not reassure me as greatly as they were intended to?"

Cato gave a soft, blunt laugh. "I will be here. Remember that."

Peeta put the pail of pitch down on the stairs, then stepped onto the paving slab just before the carving of the intertwined flowers that marked the entrance to the trap. He stared at them, knowing that the roses were not a coincidence. _Clove, _he thought, _what have you done to me? What am I doing? How have I gotten here?_

There was no answer. But he could have sworn he heard her familiar uncaring laughter ringing distantly.

As Cato watched Peeta step up to the intertwined carving of flowers he unaccountably thought of Katniss, and for the briefest of moments thought he saw the blade of a dagger, its handle curiously carved from twisted bone and its blade thick with blood, slice through the air.

He shuddered with foreboding.

* * *

The Trojan Exodus was going well, if slowly. Forewarned of the fires – and that they had been set to panic rather than to incinerate – the Trojans moved as quickly as they could through the streets toward the gates and the eight-hundred-pace walk to the edge of the bay. They were anxious, constantly looking over their shoulders for the swordsmen they'd been warned about, and just as constantly hoping that Peeta had been mistaken, and that there were no swordsmen at all.

Men and women, wearing Dorian clothes, walked with as much arrogance as they could, aping the habitual movements of the Dorians. Their children were silent, clinging to their mothers' shawls and skirts, chastened by their parents' strict warnings to be quiet once they'd left their homes.

Peeta's warriors, together with Marvel's guardsmen, moved among the crowds, reassuring and hustling, their eyes lifting above the crowds for any sign of strangers or the glitter of swords. A man shouted at the sound of running feet, causing everyone to tense, but the cause of his cry was soon apparent: not swordsmen, but panicked – and strangely short-haired – Dorians, running from their homes to intermingle with the Trojans. Marvel caught the eye of Glimmer, standing three or four steps up in the entranceway to a house, and nodded in satisfaction.

All was going well.

* * *

Peeta stood before the entrance of the maze, his head bowed, then slowly he looked up and made a sign with his left hand. It was guess. Something that pulsed from his limbs, from the _bands_.

Cato gasped. Raised by the motion, a gateway rose, hanging before the entrance, where before there had been mere air, a archway of entwined flowers – the same flowers that moments before had rested as a lifeless carving in the stone floor.

Peeta spent another few moments studying the gateway hovering before him, then, without any hesitation, reached into it and pulled forth one of the flowers. A single white rose. "For my queen," he said, then kissed the flower and threw it gently back against the rest of the gateway.

Instantly the entire gate collapsed, and as each flower hit the stone floor, it vanished.

* * *

Far, far distant, atop a the hill once which Artemis lived, where she sat alone and undisturbed in the summer sunlight, Clove breathed one wonder-filled word. "Peeta!"

Then she lifted out her arms, and tipped back her head, and laughed with delight and love.

Before her, on the ground, lay the flower that Peeta had kissed and tossed back against the flower gate. She picked it up, rolled it between her fingers, then rested her lips where his had been. Still warm.

There, she tasted the power, the dark unknowing that was spreading in him, slowly.

More and more he became her piece in their game of gods and power.

* * *

Peeta hefted the pail of pitch in his hand and stepped into the maze. Blindly, instinctively, he turned to his left first, walking a track that led through the midsection of the labyrinth, then around its top, before the path wound back upon itself to take him to the second-most outer right track of the design.

In this first section of the labyrinth it seemed as if nothing had changed, as if he would do nothing more than walk in ever-varying degrees of semicircles and about turns until he reached the black heart of the trap. But as he turned once more, this time onto the extreme left-hand outer path, it seemed to him that the cellar chamber about him faded, and he walked not a stone floor, but a field of waving wheat.

Then, as he turned yet again, the field vanished, and Peeta found himself in a forest surrounded by the horns of the hunt and the pounding hooves of horses. He froze, stunned, and once where Cato stood, there was no one. He turned in a full circle, and ignored the frantic beating of his heart.

_What trickery is this? _But he knew already, what Hades' trap was.

Fouler than the god himself, crueler and judgmental and darker than a new moon.

Peeta knew exactly where he was.

* * *

The press of Trojan and Dorian bodies, all heading for the gates, worsened immeasurably, and Marvel fought down panic. If they were attacked by Katniss' hired swordsmen, then the press would work in their favor... but such a tightly packed and half-panicked crowd might just as easily turn on itself, crushing people underfoot and against enclosing walls.

There came another shout, far above the crowd, and Marvel looked up in its direction. There, high above the crowd on the flat roof of a house, stood Katniss and her sister, clutched close…and Pandrasus, the not-so-trapped king, had a sword, and he was waving it at the crowd.

Peeta's wife smiled cruelly at Marvel.

* * *

Peeta gripped the pail tighter, and some of the pitch slopped out, making him jump aside to avoid splashing his booted foot. The stone path still led through tall trees and thick shrubbery, rustling with the stiff breeze. Overhead the canopy of the trees swayed and shifted, allowing occasional shafts of hot sunlight to illuminate the path, too, beckoning him further into the maze. Daring the Trojan king to continue what he'd started.

_Try, _rasped the reeds, in a voice weak and horrible, _try and take me, _Hades sang, amused.

_But, first, you must face yourself._

On all sides came the sound of the hunt: the thud of horses' hooves and the snort of their breath; the shouts of the hunters, alive with excitement; the angry shrieks of wild birds, disturbed from their roosts; the gasping terror of the quarry. Peeta ignored all that, hefted the pail of pitch once more, trying to maintain his grip in his sweaty palm, and was unsurprised when he felt in his hand not the wooden handle of the pail, but the sweet soft feel of a beloved bow.

He lifted it, and knew it at once. It was the bow of his youth, the one his father had gifted him for his fifteenth birthday... and this day was his fifteenth birthday, and he was in no great city, protected by Hades' will and well, but in the forest, out to shoot the stag that would signal his ascent into manhood.

And next to him he felt the small, pale hand of a fifteen-year-old Clove slip into the crook of his elbow.

"Come, my prince," she whispered, much like she'd once done before. "It has to be done."

* * *

"They attack!" cried Marvel, not tearing his eyes from Katniss, and that smile.

The cry was passed over the crowd so that soon all heard.

Within the crowd, in groups of four or five, men dropped sacks or the folds of the thick blankets they had over their arms, and drew forth swords. They lifted them, and looked for Trojans to attack.

"They have disguised themselves!" Katniss cried from her perch on the roof, her voice angry.

* * *

Peeta fitted an arrow to the bow, Clove's soft and cool arms guiding him in the action as though he were a mere boy. Together they fitted the weapon, notched, and lifted it.

The moments were stiffer than Peeta remembered them to be, in true.

He could hear the crashing of hooves in the shrubs just to his left, could see the flash of the stag's antlers above the greenery, could hear the beast's terrified exhalations.

Excitement flared in his chest, and he let fly the arrow.

There was a silence, then a shout of horror from beyond the path. "Our king! Our king! He has been struck!" And the excitement in Peeta's chest collapsed into dread, and he knew what he had done.

It was not a stag he'd seen.

Clove kissed his sweetly below an ear, "Well done, my prince," and turned into mist.

* * *

Frustrated, and anxious that they were themselves trapped, the hired swordsmen struck out in all directions. Dorian and Trojan alike were torn down, and in the press and the heat and the panic, more people were injured or killed as the crowds surged, trying to escape the death being dealt among them.

Marvel, Glimmer, Idaeus, and the rest of Peeta's higher officers called for calm, and urged their own swordsmen to fight their way through the crowds to those who were inflicting such injury among the throngs, but it was nigh impossible to get through.

High above, Katniss shouted, but it was a cry of fear rather than triumph.

* * *

Suddenly, the forest was gone, as also the bow in his hands.

Again, Peeta stood in the chamber beneath the guardhouse, the stone path unfolding in front of him. Again, he held the pail of hot pitch in his hand.

But there was one difference.

In the midst of the maze, and Peeta was almost there now, sat his father. He lay, contorted in agony, both his hands wrapped about the shaft of the arrow that had pierced his eye. Clove sat languid beside the grown man, purring, her freckles dusted kisses on her cheeks. "My prince," she greeted.

_Try, _rasped the voice. _But you will not succeed._

* * *

At my side, the king cursed and leapt down the stairs that led to the street. Primrose clung to my waist, sobbing, her senses swamped both by the horror enacted in the streets below and by the growing fires that had by now cast a great pall of smoke over Mesopotamia. I grabbed at my skirts, fingers shaking, tucked my pregnant sister into the nearest building, and followed after him.

I would not allow my king to kill himself.

I stumbled often, the bulk and awkwardness of my own pregnancy combining with my fear to trip my feet, but there was no one there to aid me. Pandrasus had long gone, vanished into the swirling guards, and Prim..

I had to go back, to get her, I decided the moment my foot touched the rioted street. Forget the king. He had a sword, my sister had nothing but her sweet face and the babe in her belly. The nurses, we'd left back at the palace, and were now either caught in the fires or in the desperate struggle through the streets. Gale and Rory were no doubt somewhere, lost in the press as well, and the only thing I had to protect was Primrose. That was all I ever meant to protect.

I turned, and suddenly, Glimmer materialized out of the crowd, blood streaming from a cut in her scalp, her face both pale and furious. "Witch!" she spat. "Look at what you have done."

_Witch? _I thought. _Surely, that is you._

More angry than she could ever have thought possible, Glimmer seized Katniss by the arm and shoved her away from the stairs, into the nearest alley. "Know that I save Peeta's son, not you," she hissed.

I wretched away all I could, but Glimmer shoved her face close to mine. "Call them back!" she shouted, trying to make herself heard above the shrieking and crying of the crowds. "Call your hired swords back!"

I stared at her, as if wondering who she was, then managed to collect myself. "I cannot," and it was the truth. "Who could make themselves heard above this din? Besides, I doubt they would listen to me. Not now." She was beyond right – no one person could now make their voices heard above the horrific din of the crowds and the fighting and the roaring fires – but that did not stop Glimmer giving her a sharp, frustrated shake.

"I have to get Prim–" I had begun to say, pulling from her hard hands, but the woman hissed.

"I am leaving this godforsaken city and _you're_ coming with me."

Then she closed her eyes, saw the death flowing down the streets, and her face despaired.

_A seer is always the one to follow out of a fight,_ I would learn later in my life. At that time, I was more concerned about Primrose, stuck in the house where I'd left her, as Glimmer pulled me desperately down the streets, faster, urging, snarling and slapping and kicking with me. Scared of what she'd seen.

* * *

Peeta stepped into the center of the maze and looked over the two banes of his existence. His heaviest sins and crimes. Silvius, his father, blood streaming in a thick rich river down his cheek and neck, gradually became aware of him. He dropped his hands from the shaft of the arrow, and held them out in appeal to Peeta. "What have you done?" he said, his voice a groan. "What have you done?"

Peeta looked at his father for a long moment. There was no regret in his face, but his stomach was forcing itself not to wretch. Clove rose quickly and swung an arm around him, pulled her face to his shoulder. She looked down at the father sweetly, as though he were something endearing. "He has taken his heritage," she said.

Peeta did nothing, just stood frozen, as his worst memory unfolded.

"Why? Why, my son?"

His heart twisted, but Clove took him by the face with both hands, turned his eyes from the sight and pressed her lips to his. When she drew back, he was breathing harshly. "To be my king.." she started on her list of endless promises. _Power, kingship, immortality. _"Do it."

_You can't do it, _rasped the voice.

There was a piece of Peeta, who clung to his old self, that demanded he shoved the false Clove away. _Tell her no_, it ordered thunderously. _Don't do it. _But the other half of him, so tamed, touched by the seeping bands...

Peeta set the pail of pitch onto the floor, leaned down botanically and took the arrow in one hand and a handful of his father's hair in the other. Steadying himself, and firming his grip on his father's head, Peeta said, "This I do for all Trojans, but I leave the Dorians – and all kin who ally with them – to their fate."

And then he thrust the arrow brutally deep into his father's brain.

The visionary Clove laughed in delight. Hades' hiss of outrage, and pain, echoed her.

His father's corpse vanished, leaving Peeta breathing heavily, alone.

"Peeta?" Cato called at him from the steps.

A moment passed, and he felt the real Clove's happiness_. The godwell is done with. _The trap was hardly anything, with Clove there to instruct him, and he had already, and..

Peeta turned, suddenly frantic to Cato. "Quick!" he said. "People die!"

Without acknowledging the words that Cato sputtered, Peeta picked up the pail and the bristle brush, and turned to the path of stones across the floor, that led back out of the maze. He began to tread it slowly and most awkwardly, for as he went he bent down between his legs and drew a long line of pitch from the bucket, leading after him along the path that led to the steps leading upward.

"What are you doing?" Cato demanded.

"Setting my own trap," Peeta said. "This is my godwell now, and I intend to swallow Hades' entire city whole."

And so, as Peeta walked, a growing line of black trailed behind him, leading a darkness from the circle in the center of the maze. Its escaped at the foot of the steps, pulsing, twisting, _alive_. The fingers of the trap touched Peeta's form, briefly, skimmed him, and he winced, in pain. The power is foreign and corrupted, and not _right_. Not truly his.

As he walked, Peeta was very careful never to look behind him, never to look at that trail of pitch. He could not afford to see what it was that followed him along that black path from the heart of the Hades' godwell. If he saw it, if it knew he had seen it, it was close enough to snatch him.

Cato, who could see, moaned, and turned aside his head, shaking. But not from fear, rather, he felt a spike of the power that so fleetingly rises in his blood. _Not yet, _rasped a voice in Cato's mind, as if broken glass against stone. _Not yet, beloved child._

Peeta was leading forth his own trap, but not one of trickery, his trap was one only of destruction.

And Peeta was leading it directly into the streets of Mesopotamia.


	5. Chapter Five

A/N: Short, I know. Sorry. Back in school and crazy busy. Thanks for reading. I disown and all and everything. Reviews and love.

* * *

Chapter Five

Glimmer, one hand buried in the shoulder of Katniss' robe, studied the crowds, then abruptly lunged into them, dragging Katniss behind her.

Incoherently furious, Katniss cried her objections and beat at Glimmer's hand and arm, but Glimmer ignored her struggle as best she could, and dragged Katniss deeper and deeper into the press.

She prayed to whichever gods that were listening that the Trojan swordsmen would soon put a stop to the slaughter. Glimmer also wondered for the _gods sake_ where was Peeta? Where Cato had gone to? And when would they return?

Because when she closed her eyes she saw something that made her retch.

She knew they did it; she saw them somewhere dark and misted and leading the death into the streets.

So she dove deeper into the crowd. Intent on the gate and the ships.

* * *

Peeta worked quickly and methodically, the sounds of the chaos outside sifting through the guardhouse and down to its sub-chamber. Cato watched a shadow, a swirling cloud of black smog, but thinner than that, but more than a shadow follow after Peeta. He groaned aloud, then turned his face aside once more, a hand over his eyes, wishing he'd not been so foolhardy to look at what he knew would be there.

A destructive trap, indeed.

"Courage, Cato," Peeta muttered as, finally, his back aching with having to walk doubled over, he reached the foot of the steps. He painted the pitch up to the foot of the first step, then stood up, wincing as he straightened his back. "We must get out of here," he said. "Now!"

Together, they climbed. Both shouted at the single warrior remaining in the guardhouse to flee, then they burst into the street. And instantly stopped, unable to move for the press of the crowds that fought to pass through the narrow gate opening in the walls.

"Gods!" Cato muttered. "I had not thought it would get this injurious!"

Peeta didn't even bother to reply. He placed one hand on Cato's shoulder, then gave a great heave, pushing him along the wall of the guardhouse and away from its door. With his other hand, Peeta grabbed at the warrior who'd followed them out, pulling him to safety as well.

There had not been an instant to spare. Blackness seethed out the doorway and instantly poured upward, as if seeking the light. It combined with the smoke of the fires, acting upon it as would cold water poured on red-hot metal. There was a crack, followed almost immediately by a hissing and spitting so violent that the crowds forgot their desperate need to push and shove, and instead crouched down, hands over their heads.

Then, stunningly, the blackness and smoke overhead disappeared, leaving nothing but uncorrupted blue sky above them. There was a stillness as, for a time, no one dared to move, then, from far away, came a faint shout. "The fires have gone out! The fires have gone out!"

Cato, lowering his hands from his head, looked at Peeta, and frowned.

"There is great danger," said Peeta, standing. "We must get our people out. Now! There is no time to waste." He shouldered his way into the now rising and murmuring people in the streets. "Trojans, hear me," he shouted, his voice carrying far back into the city. "This city is doomed. Run, run, run for the bay and the ships!"

There was another long, still moment, then a sudden surge of movement as people once again grabbed at the hands of children, and at the baskets and packs tied to their backs, and hurried toward the gate.

"Quick, but calm," Peeta shouted, and amazingly, people seemed to heed him, for there was no more pushing and shoving, nor was there undue panic, although faces were tight with anxiety. "Quick, but calm. If we hurry we will be safe, we will be safe!" And the Trojans, composed but hurried, poured in an ever-increasing stream through the gates of the city and ran down the road toward the beach.

Peeta strode into the street, moving several paces away from Cato, shouting encouragement and urging people ever forward. Cato was about to follow him, when he stopped, stunned. While people were now more relaxed, and moving quickly and far more efficiently through the streets toward the gate than they had previously been, not all people were moving.

Stranded here and there were still islands of people, sometimes composed of a single person, sometimes of a group of three or four or more. About them parted and flowed the stream of Trojans on their way to the gates and escape.

"Who…?" Cato murmured, then stopped, knowing the answer.

_This I do for all Trojans, but I leave the Dorians — and all kin who ally with them — to their fate_, Peeta had said as he murdered (once again) his father, and now Cato knew what it meant. The Trojans were free to go, free of the trap that Peeta had released to settle on Mesopotamia, but the Dorians, and presumably the swordsmen that Katniss had hired to kill the Trojans (kin allied with the Dorians), seemed as if they were stuck, their feet mired into the street paving. Their faces were frantic, wreathed in horror, yet their gaping mouths gave forth no sound.

"Cato!" Peeta shouted. "I could use your aid!"

And Cato blinked, gathered himself, and pushed into the flowing throng to help as best he could.

* * *

Glimmer yanked Katniss along as fast as possible, but the bitch was proving more than difficult. For every pace Glimmer managed to force her down the street toward the gates, she dragged Glimmer several paces sideways.

She kept calling out for her sister, her voice frantic, and nothing Glimmer could do would deflect her from her purpose. "Stupid girl!" Glimmer shouted at her. "Can you not see you will die if you linger? Your sister, wheresoever she be, is doomed, along with all your kin! Look! Look! See their feet sink deeper into the stone?"

Glimmer was not sure what kind of magic Peeta had worked, but it was proving cruelly effective. All about him Dorians swayed in hopeless efforts to free their feet from the stone paving that held them fast. She even saw one man, one of Katniss' hired swords by the look of him, so desperate that he held his sword up high, then swung it down in a frightful arc, cutting through both his legs at the ankles. He roared in agony, falling over and dropping his sword, but almost immediately tried to struggle forward, dragging himself by his hands. His efforts were useless. As soon as he had fallen over, his hip had sunk into the stone paving, and he was stuck as fast as previously. The man's roar turned into a horrific, high-pitched squeal as he struggled desperately against the grip of the stone, his lower legs spraying blood over whoever came within three paces of him.

As Glimmer watched the spray of crimson, one hand still buried in the shoulder of Katniss' gown, the man thankfully fell senseless to the ground, and Trojans, seeking whichever was the quickest way forward, stepped uncaring over him.

Then a man cried out, and pointed, and Glimmer jerked her eyes in the direction the man had indicated. To the right, and perhaps some eight or nine paces before Glimmer, stood the wall of a substantial house. It rose windowless and smooth some twelve paces into the air. Yet now its smoothness had been adulterated, for cracks spread from the ground upward, like fast-flowing rivulets of water. The cracks were as wide as the palm of a man's hand, and they were filled with gray, as if all the smoke that had disappeared from the sky had been drawn into their depths.

There were several more shouts, and Glimmer jerked her gaze about. Cracks were spreading up every wall she could see. The city was disintegrating. To her left, Katniss gave another lurch, trying to escape her, still crying for her sister. "Curse you, Katniss!" Glimmer cried out, her fear and frustration combining into a fury that gave her enough strength to pull the struggling body close and to deliver her a stinging slap across her cheek.

"Do you see your sword friends there, mired in the stone? Do you see your fellow Dorians, dying in the streets? Do you understand, can you understand, that their deaths are on your conscience? Can you? If you had let all be, if you had merely allowed my people to walk out those gates and sail away, none of this would have been necessary! You are death incarnate, Katniss. Hades' daughter indeed."

Katniss reeled away from Glimmer, and would have fallen save that the seer still had tight hold of her gown. One of her hands raised to her reddened cheek, then struck out at Glimmer. The seer merely ripped her to the side and the blow missed. "Come!" Glimmer said, and pulled Katniss forward at a stumbling and, thankfully for the moment, unresisting trot down the street.

Every few paces they had to dodge another Dorian man or woman or even, horribly, a child, mired in the stone. Without exception the trapped Dorians twisted and turned, tried frantically to escape, their faces ravaged with despair, their hands held out for aid from those streaming past them.

None helped them.

Every so often Glimmer glanced at Katniss, and saw that her face was white (save for that cheek), and her eyes wide and appalled at the scene about her. Glimmer hoped she felt some measure of guilt.

They managed to travel relatively unimpeded through the city to a point only some hundred paces from the gates. Around them the buildings were crisscrossed with wide cracks that seethed with gray; the buildings groaned, and some of them trembled, as if they knew their doom was upon them.

Glimmer, although still anxious, was beginning to foster some small hope that she and Katniss, and all other Trojans about them, were close to escape when, suddenly, Katniss once more lunged to the side, managing to finally pull herself from Glimmer's grasp.

Cursing, she managed to push through the crowds of escaping Trojans about them to see Katniss wrapping her arms around the figure of a small girl, who she knew was Primrose. The sister was standing by what at first Glimmer thought was a statue attached to one of the buildings. Then she realized Primrose's hands were twisted in her hair, and she was screaming, and that the statue was no statue at all, but Pandrasus, their father and king, more than half fused into the wall of a building.

Katniss was crying out in angry and fear and desperation, moving to claw at the cement around her sister's ankles. Primrose was ignorant, and reached for her father. Just before Katniss touched either, Glimmer lunged forward and grabbed the end of her braid, managing to pull her back from both.

"You witless girl!" Glimmer cried. "Touch them and you risk being dragged into that cement as well!"

Pandrasus, his eyes wide and staring, was straining one of his arms toward his daughter, Primrose, who had begun writhing and sobbing, on her knees, tearing at the ground that encased her legs, but his arm was caught fast from elbow to shoulder, and all Pandrasus could do was waggle his hand helplessly at his daughter. He tried to speak, but all that issued from his mouth was a moan…

…and dust, as if the mortar from the wall embedded in his back had been forced out his throat in his desperate efforts to speak. "He is dead. She is soon. Leave them," Glimmer said.

"Prim!" Katniss surged forward, reaching out to the girl again, and Glimmer had to wrap both his arms tightly about her and physically wrench her away.

"Glimmer!"

She swiveled her eyes in the direction of the shout and felt a surge of relief. Peeta and Cato were pushing through the crowd toward them. "I can't get her away from her family!" Glimmer said as the two men reached her.

Both Peeta and Cato stared at Pandrasus, still straining hopelessly toward his daughter, then at Katniss fighting tooth and nail in Glimmer's arms, who gave no sign that she realized her husband was at her side.

Cato's gaze went from father to daughter to sister. "How is it she can still walk?" Cato said, indicating to Katniss, and he wrapped a fist around her arm, helping Glimmer keep the thrashing young woman still.

"Her child is Trojan," Peeta said, "and her legs are needed to carry it from this tomb. That is all that has saved her. Glimmer, give her to Cato and myself. We can drag her away, and you look exhausted."

Glimmer exhaled gratefully as Peeta moved to take Katniss from her. But Katniss struggled, worse, and she struck out a hand that cracked against Peeta's face. The man did not flinch, or blink, and Katniss' grip fell to his shoulders and shook him and curled her nails tight in his skin. Her face was a mask of anguish and outrage and fever. "Free her! Free her! Or I do not go! Your son and I die here with Primrose, or you free her!"

Peeta face was emotionless. "I can not."

"Yes! You can! You must!" Primrose was sobbing then, and the sound seemed to cause Katniss physical pain, her chest heaving. Katniss turned away from Peeta, taking two steps toward the sinking blonde girl, and whipped back around, tear-stained cheeks flaming. "Do this. Do this for me, Peeta. The.." her eyes rolled slightly, in her frustration, her conflict and she was at him again, leaping over the distant and grasping him around the shoulders, pushing him slightly. "Peeta! The kind one, the one who visits me some nights, can't you hear me? Do this for me. That Peeta. Not this brute!"

Glimmer and Cato shared uncertain glances and Peeta shoved his wife off of him.

"She has lost her wits," he spat. "Cato, take her to the ship. I already cannot stand the sight of her." Peeta turned abruptly and began to walk away, Glimmer moving reluctantly after.

Cato grasped Katniss' elbow when she lurched after the Trojan king. She sank instead, to the ground, shouting at his back, "You useless coward! You murdering _goat_ of a man! Curse you! Damn you in the sights of every god who can hear the shrieks of my people!" Her chest began to shake with slow and strong sobs. "I will hate you forever!"

And he stilled, his stiff back to them.

Glimmer took a glance at his face and felt pity for Katniss; the anger she saw there frightened even her.

In an attempt to soothe Peeta, Glimmer laid a hand on his arm, but recoiled when he swiveled around.

Peeta marched back toward Cato and Katniss, his face raved. Katniss did not recoil. She rose higher on her knees, gray eyes on fire, waiting for the blow and waiting to grasp the knife shining at her from Cato's nearby boot.

But the blows never came.

Peeta shoved right passed the two, reached Primrose, grasped her under an arm and pulled her from the pavement in one fluid movement, as though the solid surface was nothing more than water. He dragged the princess ungraciously toward Katniss and threw the girl into the young woman's chest. They fell over on each other; but it did not matter, because they clung to each other and Katniss kissed every piece of Prim's sweet face.

"Follow," Peeta snarled at every gawking one of them.

Katniss flung her eyes up to meet his gaze and hardened at the sight of the pits of black fire that were his. Tightening her hold on Primrose, fingers curling into the grimy dress, both aided each other to their feet. Prim leaned heavily into her sister and Katniss did not mind the extra weight.

Slowly, they followed.


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: It's been a long time, I know. Sorry. I hope this makes up for the lack with length. Hope you enjoy. As ever I disclaim what's not mine.

* * *

Chapter Six

High atop a sacred hill, Clove unwound her hair to the sun, tipped back her head, and ran the flower Peeta had kissed lightly across the glossy dark tangles, along a collarbone, and between the valley of her breasts. She shuddered, then sighed, content. Even though Peeta had not allowed that damned bloated wife of his to die within the crumbling mausoleum that was her home, Clove would be content. Never mind that mortal; Katniss could always be set aside to wait for another time (definitely before she had time to bear that ugly little son she was brewing) and what was more important, something monumental to Clove's plans had come to pass. Peeta had passed the test. He was strong enough to manage Hades' trap, set his own, and not wither under the power of both Hades and the bands, but rise into it.

What he could destroy, he could also build. All was well.

All was very, very well indeed.

Clove closed her eyes against the sun's warmth, and traced the flower down a side and across a hip.

* * *

_"If you had let all be, if you had merely allowed my people to walk out those gates and sail away, none of this would have been necessary! You are death incarnate, Katniss. Hades' daughter indeed." _I knew it, I knew it, and hearing it said so baldly and cruelly added no more pain to the guilt that was already coursing through me. Hera, I should have let it be. Revenge should not have come to me so quickly, to pester the king into asking the sire of Nichoria for aid...

Except for all the blame and shame I was willing to burden on myself, I was not so sorry. What was most painful was what _could_ have been lost, that was mercifully spared. Those last few moments when Primrose was slipping through the earth, slipping away from _me_, at _my_ doing. Glimmer had sworn in my face that it was of my doing; and how could I deny that? All I had wanted was a revenge for myself, my people, and a return to the life I'd had, to return normalcy beyond the trudge I was forced to become, and, what I had accomplished was the murder of my entire people. Why had it all gone so badly, when the unknown goddess had said it would all work so well?

How could Hera tell me to trust a distant sister to her, when this was the results?

How would I ever trust the gods again? Why would I be inclined to? I should have known.

I tightened my arms even more securely about Prim's swollen midriff (delirious with the fact that _I could have lost her_, and it would have been _my fault_) and I dragged her along through the streets of our lost home. I did not resist, nor protest, and made all the proper movements with my legs that were needed to propel us forward, eyes trained on Peeta's stocky shoulders ahead. But my mind was back with my king, mired in the stone with him, enduring his agony. But that is foolish. A girlish stupidity. How could I "endure," even imagine, the agony that man must have gone through in his dying? How can I know what it feels like to have my back and legs and arm swallowed by stone? To have my bowels and lungs and brain surrender to rock? To take a breath and then to have it caught, unable to draw more... and yet all the while remain aware of my suffering and dying?

No, I cannot imagine that, even though it was all that consumed my mind as I hauled Prim along streets choked with my people's struggling bodies and littered with the debris of collapsing buildings. Fleeing Trojans buffeted us from all directions as they fled alongside us, but I felt not their bruises, nor heard their cries to _hurry, hurry!_ All I saw was the horrifying sight of Prim, sinking, clawing at her own legs, her fingers reddening and breaking. The tightening of my heart as I threw myself in appeal toward Peeta, crying (how shameful that was), and begging (how the words choked on their outing), and I was sure he would not save her. Not when his eyes were pits of the darkest shadow within Hades' realm. I was so sure he would leave her to death that I was prepared to die, to hold true to my words against him; his son and myself for Primrose. If she were to die because of something _I_ did, then I would have wished I had suffered with her. I would have wished the stone had swallowed me, too, but it did not, it did not because of this burden I carried in my belly, this Trojan child. Isn't that what Peeta had said? I did not understand it, and for the moment I did not want to even try. What mattered was that I had Primrose. He _had_ save her. I wanted to focus on that positive silver lining amidst ruin, nurture her at my side, and escape my overwhelming guilt.

But I knew in my heart I would not be allowed to forget, not any time soon.

Peeta would be sure of that.

I heard him eventually gasp something to his friend Cato. His voice held immeasurable relief, and it stirred me enough to look about. We were beyond the gates now, on the road that led between the rows of vines toward the bay. Fleeing Trojans still crowded us, but their efforts was less now that they were free of the city.

Peeta stopped, again spoke to Cato, and then turned about to stare back at Mesopotamia. "Look," he said, and then his eyes dropped to me, hard, and again, more forcefully, _"Look!"_

I raised and turned my head, reluctantly, and I heard Primrose moan to herself and she would have fallen, had not I still held her so tight to my chest. Mesopotamia was crumbling. It appeared as if an indistinct gray cloud hung over it–it might have been the dust from the collapsing masonry, but somehow I knew it was something far more vile and evil–and under the weight of that noxious cloud the city was collapsing into itself. Towers crumbled, tenement buildings tumbled, palaces slid ignominiously into gutters, and the city walls turned into the consistency of sodden pastry and merely folded in upon themselves in resignation.

"The trap swallows it," Cato said.

_What trap?_ I thought, but did not dare ask. _What trap had my husband conjured?_ All of my initial terror of Peeta, which had faded away over the past months, now returned to me a hundredfold. I had once feared Peeta as a murderer and a rapist, now I feared him as a sorcerer. It occurred to me that he might of known all along what I planned, and let me continue, just so I could damn myself. I cursed myself at my foolishness, for so callously having gambled with the lives of everyone I knew. And lost.

"Did all our people escape?" Peeta asked Glimmer, and I shuddered against Prim's side in pure spite.

"Aye," Glimmer replied. "All those who escaped the swordsmen's blades. The last groups ran out the gate well before the final destruction."

Peeta breathed deeply in some consuming emotion. "And now," he said. "Troy."

I closed my eyes. His dreams lived, mine were dead. As we stood there, Prim buried her face in the crook of my neck, unable to watch as Mesopotamia fell into ruin, knowing that somewhere in there her father–perhaps still aware and screaming within his mind–was being finally entombed by the stone. With a panging in my chest, I realized Gale and Rory could be in there, too. I straightened and overlooked the city again, eyes brighter, horrified. "Hera.." I started, disbelieving..

Glimmer laughed at my utterance. "You really think the gods want anything to do with you?"

"Perhaps not with the company I keep." I shot her, then Cato, then Peeta, a glare.

My husband regarded me in an intense way that I found faintly disturbing. Then his mouth curled. "Aye. Gods would never glance twice." With that he turned from the city forever, Glimmer and Cato in tow. I followed because I knew Prim could not stand another minute. Rory... Gale... her father… our nurses…all our people. All gone. Everything she had loved and long adored, and with which I had become familiar with, for her sake, was gone.

Trojans thronged the shoreline of the bays as they waited to board the ships lying at anchor some fifty paces out to water. A score of rafts ferried them out in groups of thirty or more. The mood was calm, some people even managed to laugh, while the sun shone overhead, its heat alleviated by a cooling northerly breeze. I found it strange that the world continued as if little of consequence had passed.

Undoubtedly sick of my weeping sister, Peeta handed us over into the care of a strikingly red-haired woman with a child slung in a blanket over her back. He told me her name was Lavinia, and that she would watch over us for the time being. It was, to every sly glance between his companions, the final statement: he thought so little of me – whether as a wife or as an enemy – that the peasant woman sufficed to either comfort us or guard me.

At that particular – and unfortunate – moment Prim seemed to suddenly remember Tavia; receiving a new nurse brought the old one painfully back to the present. "Oh, Apollo," Prim gasped, calling upon her own favorite deity. "Tavia was entombed in Mesopotamia's destruction!"

"Yes," I whispered, hoarse. I drew tight hands over her ruffled hair and down her smooth cheeks, trying to comfort her distraught all I could. "_Yes_." I could not lie, not when I fought off my own tears.

"Rory.." And her sobs began anew, but instead of clutching me, she clutched the slope of her belly, reaching out to the last piece of the boy she had once loved. Ignoring Lavinia, who was watching me with ill-concealed disdain, I sank to the sandy ground with my sister and buried my face in her shoulder, which was heaving with the renewed strength of her wretchedness. Tavia was gone, consumed with everything else Prim... and I, might of,... loved and never again would that kindly nurse curl up in my place in Primrose's bed, and sing her to sleep when I could not.

But I held tight to the thing I still had. I did not cry, nearly choked on the tears, as well, but would not weep for the Trojans to see other. It was different when I had thought I was about to lose the thing I loved most in this world. I would not weep. then. Not when I still had Primrose to love and protect.

I sighed, stroked Prim's brow, and said numerous things to comfort her. My efforts made Prim sob all the harder. Lavinia tried multiple times to help; she offered kind words, the snuggle of her child, a strained smile. _Stop it!_ I wanted to tell her. _Go away!_ I wanted to shout at her, but none of these phrases came to my lips. It was not her fault; I blamed that goddess, I blamed Peeta, and myself.

For a time as the others loaded onto the ships, I sat there in the sand, my legs curled underneath me, while Prim's were sprawled most ungracefully, her belly bulging between them, her dress-robe half ruined, its hem rumpled somewhere about to the thighs. She cried like a child. _She is a child, _I thought. _A child with child, without a home._

Lavinia eventually sat beside me, and after the first attempt to hold me, which was rejected, she sat soothing her own child, watching me soothe mine – _Prim – _and eventually, when I had calmed her down somewhat, wiped her nose with the hem of my robe, Lavinia sat back a little, and lifted the child to her chest. Lavinia smiled at me conspiratorially as if we were somehow made sisters by the shared fact of our maternity, and, cuddling the child, she pulled aside the bodice of her robe, and offered her breast to the baby. Its mouth latched on to Lavinia's nipple like a starving dog snatches at meat, and I winced, instantly vowing to find a wet nurse for this load within me.

She saw me frowning. "Do not think the feeding of a child is a burden," she said. "There is no sensation a woman loves more than the feel of her child at her breast."

I looked away. I didn't want this child at all, let alone to have it grub for sustenance at my breast.

"When you birth your baby," she continued, her eyes watching me with a faint and highly irritating degree of condescension, "you will want to snatch it up and place it at your breast. All women do."

"I don't want this child," I said simply and coldly. _I never did._

* * *

Lavinia, her baby, and her husband, Pelopan, were to accompany myself, Prim, Peeta, Cato, and Marvel (who showed not a single sign of grief at the destruction of the city that had once sheltered and nurtured him) on a raft to Peeta's lead ship. Apparently Peeta had decided that Lavinia would make good company for me. I didn't care one way or the other. I was weary beyond belief, both my sadness and the physical effort I had been forced to undertake in order to escape the destruction had taken their toll on me. I just wanted to sleep, and some small part of me hoped that when I woke it would be to find that this entire day had been a nightmare – that the last seven months had been a nightmare – and I was once more home with a king, a sister to protect, Gale joking at my side and a life to look forward to within Mesopotamia.

Cato tried to aid me to the center of the raft – I hated the feel of his hands on my flesh so much that I wretched away – and, instead, I lifted Primrose in my own arms, making the jump, while some twenty or twenty-five other people crowded about me.

Peeta was the last to leap on the raft – his energetic leap causing the craft to rock alarmingly in the water – and he shouted to the men with the poles to take us out to the ship. At this I raised my head, and looked ahead. All of the ships had raised anchor and were under oar toward the mouth of the bay. The ship remaining was a sleek warship, its black hull sitting low in the water, its prow and stern curving gracefully in arcs at either end. I could see the heads of the men who sat on their oar benches, waiting for us.

I looked behind. There was no one left on the beach. Somehow I had been so absorbed in my grief and my sister that I'd not noticed we were the very last to leave. Something went cold and hard within me. I was leaving. _Leaving_. I cast final glance at what was left of Mesopotamia – nothing but a small hump of rubble that even still was collapsing into itself; in a week's time there would be nothing remaining to tell anyone that once a proud and glorious city had stood on that hill by the Acheron river.

Peeta had apparently seen where I looked, for I heard him say to Cato, "Mesopotamia no longer. Necropolis now, I think."

"A fitting city for the river of Hades, my friend," said Cato.

Oh, Hera! How I despised them both. I might berate myself for my part in Mesopotamia's destruction, but that did not stop me loathing those men who had pushed me to it. I could only be cold to them.

The raft journey was brief, and soon we were at the ship. The others boarded first, and I had to suffer the indignity of allowing Peeta and Lavinia's husband, Pelopan, to lift Prim into the ship as if she were a loosely tied pile of goatskins. Once, I might have climbed into the ship myself, dignified, or helped my own kin into the vessel, but not when I was six month gone with child. Peeta smiled at me in a way that made me stiffen and cross my arms over my chest; somehow it softened his blunt features, and if I had not imagined it, he treated me more kindly than when he had lifted Primrose.

_What am I thinking?_ Peeta would have handled even those goatskins with more care than he did me.

I had never before been aboard one of these warships even though many had docked in the bay at Mesopotamia before, and so once aboard I forgot my exhaustion for a moment to stare curiously about. The body of the ship was open-hulled. Rows of benches for the oarsmen spread on either side of a great gaping chasm that went down to the keel. This space was filled with people, all turning themselves around and around like dogs in a litter as they arranged their blankets in the limited room available to them. Here and there chickens squawked, dogs barked, and several goats bleated happily.

I thought Peeta expected me to bed down in the chaos and I was preparing to do just that, tugging Prim by the hand, but he put a hand to my elbow and nodded toward the back of the ship. "There is a small cabin on the aft deck," he said, "where I have arranged a sleeping space for you."

I wrenched my elbow away from his hand, shuddering in both disgust and hatred, and looked. There was indeed a small raised deck across the stern section of the ship. On top of that was a timber construction that may, with imagination, have been called a cabin. There was also a rickety enclosed affair suspended over the very stern of the ship, which I instantly realized was a means of some privacy to allow one to void one's bodily wastes. I noticed the way Prim's eyes lingered there, and, again, her eyes filled with tears. Muttering, she informed me of such, but again, when I moved to help her, Peeta touched my arm to stop me. He turned to Lavinia. "Perhaps you could assist them? The deck of a ship can be treacherous for one unused to it."

Thus it was that I found myself being aided aft by Lavinia, chatting all the way about how carrying a child made a woman apt to the most embarrassing urinary accidents, and while I wanted to hate her as much as I hated all the other Trojans, all I could feel was grateful, because I do not think I could have managed Prim and myself unaided with constantly tilting footing, and with my triple burdens of child, exhaustion, and sorrow. "Thank you," I told her reluctantly.

Afterward Lavinia aided me and Primrose down the slippery boards of the ship, and the woman nodded at me, as if I were a child who had suddenly decided to be good. "Of course," she said. Later, when she accompanied us into the cramped and stifling cabin, and helped lower Primrose to the straw mattress atop the sleeping pallet, she asked, "How many months to go?"

"One or two," said Prim.

"Two or three," I said, lowering myself to the mattress beside the two, and sighing with relief. And then the relief caught like a stone in my throat, and dread overcame me. _"... Beware the day you no longer carry that child. Beware the day."_

For the coming lone hours it took the ship to row to the open ocean and to get under way – south, from what I heard someone shout from the open hull of the ship as the crew raised the great linen sails – I lay on the mattress where Peeta assigned us. I lay there as afternoon slid into night, and Lavinia brought us some bread and wine for dinner. I lay there for hours, uncertain of my life, relieved over Prim's, and not knowing what to do about it.

Two or three months to go. Two or three months before I gave birth to the baby. Two or three months to live. I had no illusions about how Peeta felt about me. I think he hated me almost as much as I him. If he initially hadn't, then he most certainly did now after those spiteful words I had said to him the previous night when I thought he meant to take Prim from me. I couldn't take back those words, the raved expression on his face, the force at which he threw my little sister at me.

If I was alive and on this ship now, then the only reason was because of the child. I placed my hands on my belly, feeling the shape of the child within, and for the first time realized just how precious it was to me. The child was the only thing keeping me alive... and when it no longer depended on me for survival, then Peeta could very well hand it over to a wet nurse and decide I was eminently disposable.

Maybe Peeta would not actually kill me – although, frankly, I thought he would have no hesitation in doing so – but at best I would be abandoned on some tiny atoll or barren stretch of coastline.

I remembered again, with growing anticipation, the words I had thrown at Peeta the other night. How I'd taunted him. How when he snatched at me as if to strike me, I'd said, _"You wouldn't dare! I carry your son. You wouldn't dare." _And how he had then said, _"Then beware of the day you no longer carry that child, Katniss. Beware the day."_

Beware of the day you no longer carry that child, Katniss. Beware the day.

I swallowed, my throat dry, and reached for the torso of my sister beside me, and hugged her tightly, in search of any sort of comfort. Lavinia beside us, her baby at her breast again, thoughtfully handed a skin of wine to me, and I murmured a thank you. I drank, then gave the flask back to Lavinia, and lay down again, my thoughts racing.

I had two or three months to make Peeta decide he might like to keep me after all. I had two or three months to change the minds of most Trojans about me, for I was aware that most people would realize my involvement in the debacle in the streets, and not thank me for it.

Because, ultimately, if I was gone, what would become of Prim?

I tried to remember if I had ever been disparaging to the Trojan slaves in the palace. I'd ignored them mostly... I wouldn't ever purposefully humiliate or rebuke one of them... but who knew what I may have said and done inadvertently that would now be used against me?

Here I was, surrounded by people, who had every reason to hate me, without a single friend aside Prim, and I had two or three months to make myself – or just her – wanted. Being liked was not a skill of mine. I closed my eyes briefly and offered up prayers to Hera, and Seeder, for what might well appear a deceit to the memory of my king and Gale, and then I sat up, laying a hand on Lavinia's shoulder to stop her rising as well. "No, stay here with Prim. I have a mind to talk to my husband. There is no need for you to disturb yourself. Besides, see how peacefully your child now sleeps in your arms."

"Be careful," she said.

"I will be," I said, my voice light and, I hoped, sweet. "Thank you for your concern – for this matter, and for all you have done for me in this past day." Lavinia looked at me slyly, and then grinned, as she knew the direction of my thoughts. I gave her an embarrassed half smile, then heaved myself most ungracefully to my feet and made my way out the cabin and down the narrow walkway to where my husband sat with his friends and the ship's captain at the edge of the deck.

Around us the night was beautiful, even I had to admit that. Moonlight dappled over the calm waters, and the northerly wind brought with it the scents of cypress and pine. I gathered myself mentally throughout the walk, wishing I had a cleaner more comfortable robe other than this confining, stained thing I wore. Just before I reached them, I stopped hesitantly at the edge of the oil lamp's reach.

"Katniss?" my husband said, looking up at me.

The others – Cato, Marvel, Glimmer, the captain, whose name I did not know, and several other of Peeta's officers – all looked at me likewise, their faces devoid of emotion, their eyes carefully blank.

_They must truly loathe me_, I thought, and fought down an unwanted flare of panic.

"Peeta," I said, and then stopped, unsure of how to go on.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"I… I wanted to say to thank you… for my sister…" A pause. The words were hot in my throat, "And to apologize.. to all of you… and to say that I regret my actions that resulted in... in so many people's deaths this past day. I… was..."

"You were treacherous," said Cato, his voice hard.

"Yes," I said hastily, willing to agree with anything and everything if it would make Peeta think I was finished with that dreadful piece of betrayal. "Treacherous. I…I wanted to assure you –" No, that was stupid, the wrong thing to say. Gods, I needed to learn to lie. "Peeta, I will not blame you for disbelieving me, but at that moment when I saw my sister, and realized her death might have been caused from my actions..." I stopped, lowering my eyes (I had heard it is harder for others to see lies when he cannot look into your eyes), feeling the terrible weight of their judgment. "I will never be so foolish again," I muttered. "Never." And with that I mustered all my dignity, and whatever balance remained to me on that rocking ship, and made my way back to the cabin.

It was not much, but it was a start.

* * *

They watched her walk away in silence, and remained in silence sometime after Katniss had retreated inside her cabin. "She is death incarnate," Cato finally said, shattering the stillness with vehemence. "No one can trust her. Her words are those of the viper."

"She is a stupid young girl," Peeta said eventually, peevishly, "and perhaps her sister's near death has taught her a lesson. She is without friends here, and harmless enough, surely." _And doomed to die_, thought Peeta, _if Glimmer saw alright. _He dropped his dark eyes and studied his hands, suddenly sick of death.

Most of the others shrugged, the matter of little concern to them now that they had escaped Mesopotamia, but Cato looked at Peeta, and wondered at Katniss' words from before. "_Peeta! The kind one, the one who visits me some nights, can't you hear me? Do this for me. That Peeta. Not this brute!" _Whatever suspicion that was roused by such a comment, quickly settled somewhere in his mind; he reassured himself that all was going reasonably well. They had, after all, finally left Mesopotamia. About them, as far as the eye could see, ships sailed through the gentle waters of the Ionian Sea. All was calm outside, within the crew, the people. Cato contented himself over that. Why start needless trouble over words of a deranged wife?

In the cabin, things seemed to calm, and Katniss slept. She dreamed, but not of the destruction and death she'd witnessed that day. Instead she dreamed of that strange stone hall with the golden domed roof where she'd seen Hera and the small dark fey goddess, Seeder, and where she'd heard that strange, familiar laughter. In her grief and guilt, the dream gave her some measure of comfort, and she clung to it all the night through.

* * *

Midway through the next day the fore-looker standing on the stem platform of the lead ship gave a great shout, and pointed to the hazy outline of an island on the horizon. The captain hurried the news along and Peeta soon found himself watching the smudge of gray and green bob in and out of sight, a distance island. "Clove waits," he said, his voice trembling with emotion; his companions could not decide if it sounded like lust, hunger, or hatred.

"Are you prepared?" Cato asked.

"Aye." Peeta turned aside, and signaled first to the captain to steer the ship straight for the island, then to the fore-looker to signal the other ships of his intent. All the other captains had been forewarned of this quite early break in their journey, and all would turn their ships after Peeta's, and anchor off the coast while he went ashore.

Despite constant buzzing and swapped information about the decks, no one could name the island. Or confess to having seen it there any day hence to that one. Peeta smiled knowingly at their confusion.

Slowly, they came upon their destination. The captain shouted some orders, and four men dropped overboard a small rowboat. Into this they placed a beautifully crafted pottery flask of their best wine and a pitifully bleating pure white billy goat, its legs tied together and a halter on its head.

While they readied his craft, Peeta stripped himself of his waistband and cloth and washed himself in some pailfuls of seawater on the side deck. As he soaped his shaggy, curly hair, Katniss wandered up out of nowhere, and sat on a barrel close by. She eyed his naked, glistening body, but he could see no derision in her eyes. "Where do you go?" she said, watching as Peeta sluiced a pail of water over his head to rinse out his hair.

Some of the soapy water splashed Katniss' robe, but her face did not twist in distaste as he would have predicted. She merely lifted the sodden piece of material away from her body and flapped it a little in the air to dry it. Her eyebrows lifted inquiringly as she saw him watching her. "The island," he said, nodding toward it, "is a most sacred place. Artemis awaits me there. She will show me where to direct these ships."

Katniss' eyes flared, perhaps in awe at his mention of Artemis' name in so casual a manner. "You are favored by Artemis?" she asked.

"Aye." _But she goes by the name Clove, and is not Artemis at all, in any way._

Her face stilled – it was not scowling, and Peeta found that he liked her that way, _this_ way – and she leaned forward slightly. "Have you ever heard of a goddess named Seeder?" she asked him.

Peeta held her eye, curiously. "No. I have not. Why do you ask?"

Her interest in him seemed to fade instantly, and she straightened again, turning ghosted gray eyes to the stretching length of blue sea; he ignored the instinct in his arm to reach out and pull her back around. Katniss sighed, and said, offhandedly, "You know, Artemis is an eternal virgin. She can satisfy no man."

"It is not why I go to see her," Peeta said, flatly; he returned to his bathing, no longer wishing to pull her back.

"I meant no disrespect."

"I thought disrespect was the creed you prayed to. I have never had much else from you."

Her face hardened and tilted back his way. "I have never had anything but from you, whoever you are."

Peeta gave her a strange, inquiring glance. "I am Peeta. Your husband."

Katniss turned her head once more. "No. Peeta has blue eyes. You are not him. He respects me."

A laugh broke from him. Underneath, his stomach twisted around itself and he squeezed the gold band around his thigh. _Gods, Clove, I cannot take it any longer. Too much death. _He ignored his wife, picked up a fresh waistband and waistcloth; they were of fine ivory linen threaded through with gold. Peeta tied the waistband about his waist, then threaded the waistcloth through from the back, between his legs, and folded it over the waistband at the front. He adjusted its folds, and then slid his feet into some sandals. "You are a curious wife," he said, breathing deeply and twisting the golden band above his left elbow into a more comfortable position.

"I was never fit to be a wife," Katniss said monotonously. He wondered if she was hiding pain, hatred, or disgust. Then, as if suddenly reminded of something, she looked up at him and said, "Only yours."

He laughed, again, although it was difficult to tell if there was any humor behind it. He said; "The first lesson in the art of deception, Katniss, is not to take the act too far." Her eyes flew comically wide, but Peeta had already turned to walk away.

* * *

Peeta dipped the paddle gently into the water, guiding the boat toward the small beach. His eyes were fixed on the island, his body rigid, and he ignored the evermore frantic bleating of the goat nestled beside him. As the bottom of the boat scraped the sandy bottom of the small bay, Peeta climbed out, careful not to splash his clean waistcloth and grabbed the rope at the stem of the boat and tugged it closer to the beach, grunting as he eventually hauled it above the high tide mark in the sand.

Once he'd secured the boat, Peeta glanced one last time at the forest of black-hulled ships standing out to sea, then turned and studied the landscape beyond the beach. After some point sand rose sharply twenty-five paces toward rocky ground sparsely foliated with gray-green spiky-leaved shrubs that after another thirty paces, gave way to a dark forest of pine.

Even through the thickness of the trees Peeta could see that the ground rose steeply toward the island's central peak. He'd seen the mountain top from the ship, flat and wide, and just where he knew he'd find the meeting place. He'd have a climb ahead of him. Peeta carefully lifted the struggling goat from the boat, untied its legs, and set it on its feet, keeping a tight hold of the rope attached to its halter. Then he leaned back into the boat, took the flask of wine and carefully slung it over a shoulder. Once he was set, Peeta gave a tug on the goat's rope and led it up the beach toward the forest.

They climbed upward for what felt like hours but which, Peeta realized from the occasional glimpses he could see of the sun through the pines, was probably not much longer than the morning. The going was steep, but not otherwise difficult. No vegetation grew beneath the pines, and the forest floor was soft and thick with a millennia of discarded pine needles.

He'd only been here once before, and it seemed more like a dream then.

Apart from the occasional movements of birds overhead, there was little evidence of life. No smoke from village fires billowed to the clouds, no soft whistles broke the air from wandering shepherds, no sound of domesticated animals echoed against the tree trunks. There was not even any sound of the wildlife he might have expected in the forest – squirrels, foxes, hares.

It was a forest of the gods; theirs and theirs alone.

About mid-way up the mountain he picked up on a whispering in the breeze; nothing substantial. It was words and screaming and pain and joy and he heard laughter, deep and booming. Within the mix a voice called his name. Another whispered Hades' in grief, then Poseidon's in outrage. Thresh was there, a presences, _eyes_, somewhere, watching Peeta. That's when Clove materialized at his side and hooked an arm through one of his. "My love," she greeted him.

Though surprised by her sudden appearance Peeta could not tear himself away from the stream of information flowing around him to reply. "It's overwhelming at first, I know," Clove said, referring to the whispering breeze. "But you will soon learn to block it out and find only the pieces you wish to see and hear."

"See?" Peeta ventured.

"Soon enough." Clove eyed the goat. "You brought Delly a gift?"

"Aye."

"She will adore it. And the wine?"

"For myself."

"Ah, but I won't be taking the bands off," she said, knowingly. "You will not need the wine."

Something in his face shifted. "You won't?"

"No need."

A protest threw itself up his throat only to be squelched by Clove, mentally smothered by her power. But anger zinged to the surface of his being, welled, and Peeta fought off her suppression with Hades' own gift. He _did_ speak; "A night, only. Just that."

"No." Clove's sweet face twisted into a scowl. "We meet with the others today, I want you like this."

"Peeta can act."

Clove arched an eyebrow. "You speak as though you are not Peeta. You are still the same person, you know that. Don't talk to me as though you are not he. Why do you suddenly believe otherwise?" He felt her probe at his memory, felt her draw closer, forehead to his and he could not resist completely. Clove's power was more potent and practiced than the tittering thing he'd just earned. She came away smirking. "Your troublesome wife." He did not answer, but watched as her face turned from amused to appalled. "She said that, truly?"

"Said what?" Peeta asked. "That she thought I..."

"No, no. Seeder. She said the name _Seeder? _You are certain?"

"Yes. Why?"

Clove did not answer. She turned away, walking forward in an agitated twitch, grabbing at her hair. On the wind there was a laugh again, very womanly and deeply loving, and Clove's responding hiss rang in its wake. "Bitch!" she shouted toward the sky. It echoed in Peeta's mind, against all the other voices and feelings and sights. He felt Thresh's rush of elation, somewhere far distant.

There was someone else, too, someone _closer_.

They gave off a pang of welcome to him when they realized that Peeta had noticed their presence. A meek wave of hatred to Clove came from their way, and a kiss to his cheek. He raised a hand to his face, and it was warm where he'd felt the press. _Who? _he thought, vaguely.

Clove snarled at him, not really paying attention, "Who _what_?"

He turned his head and thought he saw a shape of a woman beneath the shadow of a tree. He blinked.

It was gone.

"Nothing," Peeta said. Together they continued the climb.

* * *

As the noon sun slunk sullenly down into afternoon, Peeta began to feel the exertions of climbing. Twice he'd had to ask Clove for a break by a stream to drink or to rub cramps from his knees. All the while he felt her fuming disapproval; she expected more god-like quality from him than these petty human ails. It soured her mood considerably, and small-talk was near impossible – seeing as how Peeta could not quite shake anger of being forced to endure another night in his confines, and Clove still seemed impossibly shaken by what Katniss had said.

"You will not tell me who this Seeder is?" he asked, for what seemed the hundredth time.

"She is no one."

"You are upset at Katniss for knowing the name, I can tell." _I feel it in the breeze. In the lines of connections we gods share, that exists in a tangled net about this high mountain and forest. _Peeta could distinguish more now that he got used to the hopeless mess of it, and the closer to the peak he got. He could pinpoint specific gods and their feelings and their thoughts... but he also learned quickly, that if you are going to go probing into the midst of the web, you leave yourself far more exposed to others to probe into your own mind in return. The less you look, the less they see of you.

Thresh took advantage of that; Peeta felt the great man exploring his mind. In return, Peeta lapped up everything Thresh exposed – but that meant very little. Thresh was not afraid of showing anything, he was confident, his location unreachable. Clove snapped a finger in Peeta's face and pulled him out of the breeze with her own power, hands on her hips. He had stopped walking without realizing it.

"You are giving away too much," she said.

Peeta shrugged. "Nothing more than the obvious."

Clove narrowed her eyes. "You are not yet in practice of dealing with these people. Leave it to me."

"I can handle–"

The idea made Clove snort harshly, and she demanded, "Who is the one following us, then? Do you sense her at all? She wants to speak with you, you know."

Peeta paused, and refused to look about. He settled on looking straight at Clove. "I sensed her before..."

"And I shooed her," Clove said. "She means to turn you on me."

"That won't happen," Peeta said, touching a band.

Clove sneered, her eyes going behind his shoulder. "You underestimate these people. She's the murderer of Poseidon, my prince. She is stronger than me. Than you, as well. She draws her power from the sea and is just as wild and unruly. Some say she is crazy, even Thresh fears her... and Thresh is the one who has taken Zeus' power. He is the king of gods right now, prowling the heavens… and he is afraid of a broken girl. So should we be."

Peeta listened to the breeze; he tasted salt and heard a voice, soft. _Turn to me. Speak with me._

He did not turn.

Close smiled. "You are loyal." She was content in that statement. "Come, Delly awaits us."

Silently, he heard Clove's thought; _Delly is the only ally we have among these rebels._

* * *

In the hour just after noon the two finally reached the meeting place at the island's peak. It was an almost perfectly circular sunlit glade. Here gray weather-worn rock had pushed its way through the ground, creating a smooth hard surface covered in part by irregular patches of soft, emerald-green moss. The rocks arranged themselves around in a circle and sloped gently toward the center of the clearing where stood an altar pedestal made of the same gray, weather-pitted rock.

Before and beneath the arch a shallow basin had been dipped into the stone. Delly sat there in the grass, fingers dancing over the rain water within the depression. To one side of the glade Peeta could hear the soft murmur of a natural spring, and it competed with the net of gods ringing in the back of his mind.

Two shadowed figures lingered at the edge of the trees opposite to Clove and Peeta, but did not move to greet them. Peeta detected nothing from them – which meant they did not dare touch the web-network. He drew in a deep breath as Delly rose, smiling, and he let loose the goat that one might expect to run ramped into the trees at the edge of the glade, but instead, the creature carefully pranced and staggered its way to the blonde woman across the way.

She stroked it, kissed its damp, fuzzy nose and called out, "I shall have him. Thank you, Peeta. He is a fine one." Her fingers ran over the untouched white coat of the goat and it bleated to her the words of suffering only such as a livestock animal could.

"You are well?" Peeta asked in return. Slowly, Clove wandered over to the altar, and Peeta followed, stopping at Delly. He set the flask of wine near the basin, which was just as soon taken up by Delly. She dutifully emptied the basin of the rainwater and filled it to the brim with the crimson of a good man's drink.

"I am well enough." Delly cupped two hands, sank them beneath the wavering bruised surface, and watched the sunlight play purple against her fingers, then brought the handful to her lips. They were pale enough to stain red in that one draught. "And you? Congratulations on the son that is to come."

"You know?" Peeta asked; he was brutally reminded of Katniss, and he felt Clove flinch in his direction and smother the woman's name in his thoughts. _Do not let the others see her, _Clove snarled at him in his mind and Delly looked up at Peeta, puzzled.

"Of course I know. Clove has thought naught else since you two arrived on the island."

Clove detached herself from the altar and came to stand at Peeta's side. "Soon enough, we will have our son," she said, linking an arm through his. She pinched the inside of his elbow, just below a band.

Peeta smiled stiffly and nodded. _She thinks to claim Katniss' son, _he realized, but felt Clove's power on him as though a thousand pound weight, smothering him physically inside and out, threatening to both shove him off his feet and close his throat. The thoughts were pushed away, refused to be thrown into the web, and Peeta turned abruptly from both, and his eyes sought out the mist of a nearby waterfall. "I think I wish to refresh myself," he said, rushed.

"The others will be here soon," Delly told him softly, concern in her eyes.

All three flicked their eyes to the two figures by the trees.

"Aye," Clove said, real force behind her tone. "Hurry."

Peeta made for the nearest trees and followed the trickling sound of water until he came upon the source. He crouched down by the small pool of clear opal liquid and carefully washed his face and hands, murmuring a prayer as he did so. A prayer to the old gods: The Olympians. _How many of you have fallen? _he wondered tiredly. _How many are left of you? How many of you expected us, the Enlightened, the rebels - just a band of ambition powered humans - to swoop in and turn you on each other, then lunge when you were weak, taking everything you possessed..? _Suddenly, he regretted what he did to Hades. The god of the underworld was still dying, agonizingly. Peeta could hear the moans in the breeze, could feel the power seeping into him instead, and feel the loyalty of all those Hades' once controlled turning to him.

"Peeta."

Startled, Peeta threw himself to his feet, a hand moving itself to his belt as though to find a sword. Which is foolish. No one can fight a god with steel. However, the woman did not notice his mistake. She merely focused her eyes on his. It took a moment for him to get her in full focus, and even when he did it was hard to take in the full of her; just like the sea, the woman seemed, in of herself, unstable and wild, but breathtakingly beautiful.

For a moment all Peeta did was blink at her. Her wide, impossibly bright green eyes were beguiling to hold, for they appeared bewildered and possessed a great combustibility that made Peeta shrink slightly from her, as though something awful would come crashing over him off of her and onto him.

But there was no danger. Only her gentle hand reached out and graced his tensed forearm.

The smile on her face was broken; a distracted, meek thing. There was a skittish essence that tasted strange in the air about her movements. Everything seemed at odds around her; the core of her power mowed him over, yet there seemed something caressing about it as well as it hung between them; a ready axe over his neck, or a source of fulfillment, it could go either way in a moment's notice. "You've left Mesopotamia, yes?" the woman asked. "Your ships sail across the deeps now?" He nodded, hesitant. "I wish to come with you. You will pass a place I know well, with a man who prays to me well, and I wish to come."

Could he refuse her? She did not seem to _ask_ him, but merely informed him. He probed at her in the webs, and found her easily, exploring miles and miles of thoughts that seemed to collapse into heaps of nothing with each move he made. There was nothing to read from her; Peeta was bewildered himself by that. "I do not know where I am going yet," he told her, resorting to honesty.

"I do," she said. "You will pass his island. I wish to meet the man who loves my child so well."

"Child?"

"The sea," Annie said, her mouth curling tightly, the curve a rippling thing. "My unruly child."

_Poseidon was the… _Peeta had begun to think, but Annie seemed to hear it in the instant. Her eyes widened further and her eyebrows arched high on her forehead and she shook in the shoulders, the tremors moving through her as mountain wind. "It was never his. The sea is mine. Always mine."

When Peeta opened his mouth to correct her (he was no fool, she was misled or beyond reason, because the sea was most certainly not her creation) Annie's arms moved sharply to hug herself and he felt a whip's length of her power lash out at him. Essentially it was not physical, nor an object, but hard as leather, and Peeta fell with a violent splash into the water. He clutched the throbbing left half of his face.

Annie mumbled something under her breath, ignorant to his fall, and pressed hands into her ears and stumbled to the left, then shimmered in the sunlight and appeared for a breath as though falling rain. Then she disappeared into the mist, shaking, scattered in a hundred different splays of water-droplets.

* * *

Eventually, he returned to the meeting place, back where he left Clove and Delly, the entire edge of his jaw swelling and bruised. When Clove saw this she was not pleased. "What did I tell you?" she hissed, rushing to his side with healing hands. He felt relief instantly at her touch.

"To let you handle them," he said, and was glad she offered. The last time he'd met with all the rebels (or 'The Enlightened' as they so fancied to call themselves) was months and months ago, when he was just exiled from his homeland, and had just killed his father. At that time the island seemed a strange place, and so much fog clouded his mind the only face he remembered clearly afterwards was Delly's. He gathered only two things that day at this place: they were rebelling against the Olympians and they meant to take the reins of the world.

Now the task was half finished and Peeta felt more wary than ever. He began to question if it was right of them to do, and if all of them could truly handle the burdens they were shouldering. Annie put that one painfully to the present and he knew that Thresh rightfully feared her. Before he could voice these doubts, they were already on the web, twisting their way into the other's minds.

Someone answered him back. _Yes, but if Annie is lost to the power she stole, how can we wrestle it back from her with ourselves intact? _The man responsible for such a thought slipped from the trees nearby. He was not unusually paunchy for a warrior of his age, his chin lengthened blonde hair laced here and there with silver strands, and speckled in his short cropped beard, but Peeta saw in his pale blue eyes that he was by no means too old to not heed. _Haymitch,_ Clove whispered to Peeta's mind, putting a name to the man's face. _The one who toppled Apollo, god of wine and music._

_An old drunken fool, _muttered a voice somewhere far off; Peeta did not know the voice.

Haymitch pretended not to notice or did not hear the comment. "So this is the man who has conquered Hades," he said as he came upon Peeta. There was a crinkle of dry humor in his face. "This pansy?" He looked to Clove. "This guy?"

"Peeta is the rightful prince of Troy, and remains to be everything Hades and the god of poison once were," Clove said, slipping against Peeta's side and sneering. "Much more than you are."

Haymitch laughed loudly; some echoed him. "Aye, and I seem to remember a fifteen year old boy with tears on his cheeks last time we were here. Perhaps I had judged too quickly…" and Haymitch observed Peeta closely; certainly he no longer looked the part of a boy-child, lost, clinging to Clove's skirts. "Ruler of the Underworld, huh? When is it you shall visit your new domain?"

Peeta knew that question was for him and could not rely on Clove to answer it. _Keep it short_, she thought toward him. Truthfully, Peeta had not thought about visiting the Underworld, not even once. The idea made him want to wretch. And he wasn't entirely sure how to. He grunted, "Soon."

"Well don't get lost then," Haymitch said, patting Peeta on the back. "There are dangerous things down there," he winked, and walked away then, taking his place on one of the rocks arranged in a circle about the altar. Delly rose from her place, too, and took one of the rocks, the goat sitting at her heels.

Peeta grabbed Clove's wrist and dragged her to a rock; instead of having separate ones they shared, Clove's thigh thrown over one of his, his arms around her waist. He could feel her fingernails digging into his forearm. She wouldn't admit it, but she was nervous, she mistrusted her allies and 'friends'.

Slowly but surely the rest appeared, whisking into sight from nowhere or stepping from the trees. The rocks filled up and Peeta tried to take note of every face so that he might remember who his partners in crime are. Only a few stuck. The youngest, by far, was a slight dark skinned girl, that when he inquired after her she threw her name into the web happily: _My name is Rue. It is nice to meet you, Peeta. _She took the rock next to his and he nodded to her curtly in reply. If he stepped into the web to reply he was sure the others would see how tense he was and how horrified he was to see Rue was barely fourteen. And by the looks of her she'd already managed to kill a god; which, he did not know and wasn't sure he wanted to. Another that stood out was a slight girl with red hair and features like a fox, who slipped from nowhere and spoke none, and thought nothing in the web. Lastly, who Peeta paid more attention to than he should, was a fey looking goddess that caught his eyes and smiled, softly. When she tried to speak to him, Clove silenced her and cut off Peeta from all access to the web.

This did not make him pleased.

Annie appeared again, looking better, but not by much. She took a seat not on a rock, but stood at the altar, leaning against the cold stone and hugging her sides. No one asked her to move. In fact, when Thresh finally arrived he joined her there. The slight woman beside his hulking figure, with his burnt caramel skin and his brooding brow, was at odds – and Peeta imagined it looked even stranger between the three of them when Clove urged him to join them at the altar. _You are one of the three; Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades – now it is only different names; Thresh, Annie, and Peeta. _Standing in the center of the others made Peeta uneasy.

Clove whispered assurance in his mind; that no one else heard. _Think of the night you stood before all of Mesopotamia, how you had commanded a king, how you freed your people in one single battle and night. You are not inferior to these people, Peeta. You are their better, and they will recognize that soon. Now stand tall and don't look so frightened. You needn't talk. Hades rarely spoke, too._

The meeting began with Thresh in the lead, and Peeta could hardly hear him over the throb of his heart.

Unconsciously he turned to the golden bands for power and comfort; and they gave it. He knew if he thought of Mesopotamia at all he would think of was the recent slaughter, and he would think of Katniss, and Clove made it rather clear these others were not to know of his newly taken wife. So he breathed low in his throat and leaned back into the altar, arms crossed over his chest, taking on the appearance of boredom.

Whatever this meeting was, he was determined to stare up in the sky and ignore it. After all how useful can it be? It was Clove's ultimate plot to murder Thresh so Peeta might take his place and she might find Hera, where ever it may be that the queen of gods is hiding, and little of what these people say mattered when they will surely be harmed in the crossfire or if they try to protect Thresh.

Peeta kept up the ruse until he heard someone say, "Seeder, how goes your isles?"

Peeta jerked his head down and saw Rue leaning toward the fey goddess who had tried to greet him before. "Oh," Seeder sighed, and something wistful tugged on the web. "Not well, flower. Soon, I think, you will not see me here."

Thresh, too, took interest. "You are dying?"

Seeder gave a dip of her head and said no more.

Clove looked bright-eyed and eager. "And your male-god counterpart? And he?"

"Dying," Seeder said with her brow creasing in grief.

"Murdered?" asked Rue.

Seeder again only dipped her head and let it be.

Peeta could not stop staring at the goddess even long after the conversation passed. Mostly the others spoke of plans and the gods and goddesses they knew still lived, or where someone might find this one or another. No one knew where Hera fled, nor could anyone find the nymphs. Seeder spoke none, other than that one time. Often she smiled at him and he managed to tilt his head back – he could not muster an excuse as to why he stared, only that he wanted to know how Katniss knew of this goddess, a rebel Enlightened on his 'team' and if he should worry over yet another deceit because of this…

_Did the others know about his and Clove's plans? Are they angry? Will they kill them? Would they go behind his and her back now, and use any means to do so? Would Katniss be their knife and tool?_

The thought didn't seem impossible, and somehow it angered him; that they should use her as so.

Without using the webs, not entirely sure how he cultivated his power to do so, he spoke to Seeder.

It was purely mentally, and the others could not hear it – not even Clove, Peeta knew.

_Touch my wife and I'll make your death as slow and painful as possible._

Seeder stiffened at once, and after a moment, cast a cautious look Peeta's way. They held gazes, Peeta's hard and hers soft with… not fear… no, not even caution at all. It's pity. The sight of it twists his stomach inside out. _Oh, Peeta, _she replies, gently. _It is not me who means to harm her._

_Who?_

Seeder didn't reply with words, but turned away and tipped her head subtly in Clove's direction.

_No. _Peeta knows Clove dislikes Katniss, but she wouldn't harm his son. _Clove…_

_Clove is my sister by blood_. _I know who she is. Katniss is in danger._

Despite himself, Peeta asked: _Now? At this moment? On the ship?_

_Clove will do anything to keep her from living, and bearing you a son. Protect her, Peeta._

At this point Peeta stopped listening. He steeled himself and shook away the words. Clove warned him they would try to turn him on her and the bands reminded him of this when he was just on the verge of speaking out loud and demanding Clove tells him truth on the matter of his wife. He didn't.

He waited until the meeting was over.

Others began to dissipate. Thresh congratulated him before disappearing, Rue in tow. Seeder blew him a kiss, taking the arm of a boy Peeta did not know. Delly hugged him, lunging over his body and Peeta almost fell over. He laughed it off and Delly told him to call her sometime, before the next meeting and took his gifted goat and was gone. Few remained by that point and he began walking his own way.

As he twisted through the trees, heading back toward his fleet, Clove appeared at his side. She spoke none and seemed lost in her own thoughts. _Planning what? _he wondered. _Katniss' murder?_

"Where to?" he asked, finally.

Clove shrugged. "There's an island I know that we can build a new Troy. But…"

"But?"

"But it's Seeder's." He frowned but she was quick to justify her actions. "She was my sister once, and it's mine by right once she's gone. She is dying, and her counterpart is already lost. Or at least, he will be when we drive the knife home and wretch the last breath of power from him."

"What do you mean? Who is this man? Where does he draw his power?"

"His name is Chaff, and he's Seeder's counterpart. It means they can't live without each other, they give each other power and they are what the islanders and island live off of as well. Without them the island will surely die, but if we come and we build our god wells there, our city, then it will be the greatest civilization ever built. It will be twice what Old Troy had been before the Greeks ruined it and Paris brought Helen to its gate." Something strong struck a chord in Peeta's chest at her words. A voice in him seemed to say _that's you. _He's Paris, doped by a pretty face, a Greek woman, and if he brought Katniss to his gates she'll ruin it more spectacularly than Helen ever did to Old Troy.

But that was a silly thought and he pressed on to what mattered. "Are you what's killing them?"

"Yes and no. I didn't start it. Someone else had made them weak generations ago. I've taken up the roll again, but I need you to help me to finish the task. I can't kill Chaff outright, because it's not within him that his power to live resides. Stabbing him would hardly be enough to make him wince."

"Where is his power then? In a well?"

"No. Chaff and Seeder work in different ways than us. They draw their power from different places."

"Like from… trees?" Peeta tried a lighthearted smile, and Clove rolled her eyes.

"Seeder is the goddess of female origin. She feeds from pregnancy and the mothers themselves."

"And Chaff feeds from the males?"

"Feed is the wrong word perhaps. They give him his strength, yes. But I have already taken away what hunts and men give him, just as I'm working on taking away what women give Seeder – it is harder because they are attached to her stronger than Chaff was to the men. However, both draw from conception as that is where men and women meet most. I can't take that unless I take one away from the other. And after much searching on my part… I figured out just what's been keeping Chaff alive."

"Some manly –"

"His daughter."

"Daughter?"

"It was hard for me to puzzle it. Of course Seeder is strengthened by good childbirth and children in the land, but so is he, and he has cultivated much of his power source somewhere he thinks is safe." A wide, sly smile spread over her face, showing all her bright white teeth. "He thinks no one will find her, because she was exiled from them long ago at the island peoples doing, not knowing it was his daughter. He didn't stop it because he was certain his power source should be hidden. But I found her!"

"And you want me to kill her?"

"All in time, my prince." Clove drew him into her and pulled back until her back was pressed up against a tree, Peeta's weight lying across her body. She tipped her face to his. "You'll have to steal her, from a small little place on your way to this grand island of Seeder's. Head west and all will be well."

"West?"

"West, and west, and west, until all you see is an ocean, then turn north. And you will find it."

"How will I find this small place on the way if you don't tell me where to look?"

"It'll come to you," Clove said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "You need not worry about a thing." Her hands slid down his arm and tugged at a band; Peeta heart lightened. "You did well at the meeting."

"How long without them?" he needed to know, breathing low and heavy.

"If you're good… perhaps a couple _days_ even. It'll only be on a ship. You're a fine captain in any form."

The prospect of days of freedom was nerve-racking and relieving, but as she took off the bands, slowly, the dread built in him. All that he'd done rushed in, like someone pulled a plug over a drain. Regret was a weight on him, almost worse than the remembrance of Katniss' words of hate. Guilt, like it always did, consumed him – an emotion the bands dulled and tainted. The image of Katniss in the row boat, hugging a sobbing sister, and staring out at her crumbling home city as if with it went her heart came to mind. Peeta wanted to retch, even when he thought of Gale and felt jealousy – _still? He is dead, how can I be so jealous?_ – at the idea of Katniss mourning him along with all else she lost.

Clove laughed at his guilty state, patted his cheek and dissipated before he could shove her away.

* * *

Hours later, Peeta and Cato sat facing each other on two of the benches for the oarsmen. They leaned their shoulders against the gently moving side of the ship, and passed between them a flask of wine.

For a very long while they did not talk.

It was late at night, the stars dazzling above them, and about them the huddled, sleeping bodies of the ship's passengers and crew. Peeta had returned to the ship at dusk, half-drunk from the wine he'd gone back to the peak to consume and with the guilt he was given along with freedom that somehow were heavier chains than the bands ever will be. He'd nodded at the people who had pressed about him, and said to their queries that they needed to sail south – not _west_. From there, when they reached the Altars of the Philistines, and the Trojans could disembark from ship to sandy shore for several days of rest, then he would speak to the assembled whole, rather than shout pieces of information from ship to ship.

For this night they would rest at anchor within the bay of the island. Tomorrow there would be a good northerly wind, Peeta had said, and they would set sail south. Thus he had dismissed his people's curiosity and won himself a night of quiet and peace after a morning of strain a meeting caused.

Just before the moon rose Katniss approached him, doubt in her eyes, her hands splayed across her belly as if to remind her husband of her value. Peeta had merely told her to rest in her cabin with her sister. He would sleep on the benches this night, and not disturb her with his tossing and turning. She had obviously not been pleased, nor reassured, and she stared at him, taking in his blue eyes in some emotion Peeta would not dare to name out loud. Eventually she nodded, turning back to her cabin on the aft deck, taking Lavinia's arm for balance. Not seeing her and having to speak with Katniss didn't help the ache in his chest as Peeta had hoped. Instead, he longed to hear her speak.

Now, as the ship slept about them, and they finished one flask of wine and broached another, Peeta finally spoke, his voice soft and ravished. Between swallows of the full-flavored and only slightly watered wine, he told Cato all of what had passed in the glade, all of what Clove meant and had told and showed him from the moment he was fifteen. Throughout the entire story Cato remained rapt.

He hiccupped, now far more than half drunk, and sighed at the memory of the day. Then he leaned forward, partly to pass the flask to Cato, partly to lay a hand on his knee. "I thought I loved Clove once, when I was boy still and the business was new to me, but the more I look her all I can see is what she's made me do. I can't love her, but I trust her. It's me and her, I know that, and I know the others don't care about us… but aside her you are one of my best captains, a longtime friend… I can pay you back for that. There will be some who side with Thresh and… I will need friends to replace what they once were. I can give you the power of gods, I can make you immortal–"

Cato grunted, unimpressed, and brushed away Peeta's hand. "You think I'm interested in handouts?"

Peeta grabbed the flask back from Cato – who still hadn't drunk of it – then leaned back, taking a massive swallow of the wine. "It wouldn't be a handout if I'm paying you back," he insisted.

"Paying me back for giving my loyalty to my rightful prince?" Cato spat the words, suddenly angry.

Perplexed, Peeta set the flask aside. "What is it, Cato," he said softly. "What troubles you truly?"

Cato took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and rubbed at his jaw. "This Clove," he said, opening his eyes back to Peeta's regard. "She has troubled me since she first graced you with her presence that day of the battle in Mesopotamia. I had not seen her before, but now that I do…" Peeta made an impatient gesture, as he already expressed his trust in her. "No, Peeta, hear me out. I say again, as I have said previously, that I cannot understand how this woman has suddenly so much power, so much vitality, when for generations our gods, the Olympians have faded in power and influence since the Collapse. I cannot think her who she truly says she —"

"I have explained that, we are the ones who did that, Cato. We created the Collapse. We killed them."

A pause lasted long enough to worry Peeta, and he picked up the wine and swallowed another long draught. Cato continued to watch him in silence for a long time, then, he asked, "Who is she, Peeta? Who are any of these people you do not trust but have done this abominable crime with? Do you have any idea? Who were they before the day you all gathered and made this rebellious pact?"

"I don't know."

This time they descend into minutes of silence, passing the wine back and forth. Again and again Katniss came to Peeta's mind, more than she should, and he felt the sting of her hateful words as if she were still shouting them through her tears, on her knees, begging for his help. Not the brute him, but _him_. The kind one, she'd called him. _Would she want to see that him now_? he wondered.

At moon high he stood, meaning to see if she would see him, but Cato caught his wrist.

"There is more," he said softly.

"And why am I not surprised to hear that?" Peeta said, forcing a smile, hoping he did not see his intent – the others have yet to forgive Katniss her attempt of betrayal and her part in the slaughter.

"Peeta, you must recognize Glimmer's ability as a seer, if nothing else." He paused.

"Yes? I know what she can do." Peeta nodded, the movement ungracious.

"Then listen to me now. Glimmer is too afraid to upset you and will not share her latest vision, but she's described it to me many times. She keeps seeing a knife, a great dark dangerous thing with a grip of twisted bone, as if two horns were entwined. She sees blood. She sees the death of dreams and _you_. And underneath it all, she sees Katniss, Peeta... It always leads back to her."

Peeta gave an exaggerated groan, and rubbed at his eyes wearily with one hand. "She does not have a twisted bone-handled knife secreted anywhere about her person." The idea wasn't even amusing.

"She will be your death. She will be everyone's death! _I_ can feel that."

"She has failed most miserably at being 'everyone's death.' She's effectively harmless."

"No woman is ever harmless!"

Peeta shot Cato a black look, and he did not need the bands to summon anger at what Cato was trying to do. Turning him on Katniss would do no good, and with Seeder's words in mind he had a feeling that perhaps he should keep a closer eye on Katniss not for the offense, but to defend her. "Is any of this true seer prophecy from Glimmer, or did you just make it up because of your usual malice regarding women? I am tired of your prating about the treacheries of women and the need for dominance."

"This has nothing to do with women! It has everything to do with my position at your side as an adviser, and as your friend. As your friend, who cares for you. Don't you trust me over this Clove? We were boys together in your father's kingdom before you killed him. And even after that I followed you into exile and have been by your side for the years of travel that seemed utterly pointless up until now. Listen to me when I say whatever this new path is it isn't good. It's not the right one. I could feel it the moment I saw Clove's face that first time and the moment the demand to have Katniss crossed your lips. These women will kill you. They will destroy your entire world if you let them."

Peeta sighed, and then leaned an arm across the railing of the ship, gazing across the water to where the rest of the fleet lay at anchor. He sat there a long while, then, finally, he rose and handed the flask of wine to Cato. "How can you question what we do," Peeta said, "and where we go? Do you want to spend another handful of years wandering purposeless then? Another few years living from hand to mouth with no pride? No, of course not. I don't want that for myself, and I don't want that for all the men who did follow me into exile right beside you. I would take back my father's murder if I could, I would, I really would, but I can't. I have responsibility now. I can't turn on Clove, I can't drop out of this pact – at least, not without Clove's help and her strength at my side – and I now have all these freed Trojans that need a new home. If I send Clove off, where would we go?"

Cato thought it over, and then sighed. "Fine. Keep Clove. Get rid of Katniss. You don't need her."

"She carries my son."

"There are hundreds of Trojan woman who will bear you more. Glimmer will if you ask. Clove will…"

"I chose Katniss," Peeta said, hardening his voice.

"Then thank every star that she will die at your son's birth, because if she lives another day…"

"Enough," Peeta snapped, holding up a hand. He screwed his eyes shut and banished the vision Glimmer had of his son's birth. The one where a sword flashes down through Katniss' body the breath after she bears him into the world. The sight of it makes him want to retch over the edge of the ship.

Instead, he dismissed himself, stepping between the sleepers toward the aft deck where she slept.

Cato lowered his head into his hands, wondering how he could have allowed his warning to be so misinterpreted. These two women, Katniss and Clove, had both trapped Peeta, each in their own, different ways. And he had no idea how to untangle or point out their snares…

After a while he lifted the flask of wine to his mouth, and drank of it deeply.

He did not sleep all night.

* * *

I do not know what Peeta saw on that island, but when he came back his eyes were blue… yet strange and power seeped from every pore of his body. If ever I had needed proof of the blood of Aphrodite that I knew flowed through his veins, then those eyes and that power would have been enough.

The blue ones were not as intimidating as the black, but they stung, and were far deeper.

It was as much as I could do not to step back from him, nor flinch when he put his hand to my cheek. He told me to rest, and that he would not disturb me, but late that night, when I was deep asleep, I woke to hear his voice ordering Lavinia from my side on the sleeping pallet. In the bed across mine Primrose did not stir as he lay down beside me, his breath thick with wine, as he told me to sleep and that he would not make any demands of me. Nevertheless, merely to have him there, to feel his body close to mine, and to sense the remnants of whatever power had infested him on the island, was enough to keep me sleepless until dawn broke the night.

I stirred, meaning to rise, but he held me back with a hand on my belly.

"How long?" he said, and I quailed.

"Two months, perhaps a few weeks more than that," I said, and then rolled a little so I could see his face. "Peeta, I —"

He placed a finger over my lips, staring at me with those blue eyes in sorrow. It is just as it was when I first discovered this ailment in him. He was two different men, and only one was my husband. This one.

"How did you know the name Seeder?" he whispered. I couldn't decide if it was in an effort to not disturb anyone else still sleeping in the cabin around us, or if it was some sort of test. I hesitated.

When I mentioned Seeder to him the first time I had hoped he knew her, but he had not. Except as I stared into his eyes now it was easy to assume that either black-eyed Peeta lied or truly didn't know her, and that blue-eyed Peeta _did_. _Should it hearten me to know there are secrets between the two Peetas, or frighten me? _Either way there was no way to escape answering. Do I tell him the full truth? That Seeder _gave_ him to me to protect (even if I have no figured out how or why to do either)? More importantly, if I told him about her and Hera visiting me would he believe me? Would he laugh at me and tell his companions?

Peeta sighed when I had not yet answered. "You don't have to tell me and I do not blame you for not trusting me, but hear what I have to say…" He hesitated this time, and shifted on the bed so that his hand was once more splayed over my stomach. His eyes were down cast, and it was then that I noticed how beautiful his eyelashes were laying against his cheekbones. "They're dangerous… these 'gods' and 'goddesses'. You've seen that enough in me, but my… these others they are worse in some ways. I can't tell you to stay away from her and I won't – at least right now I am saying that, I cannot promise no… later rebukes on my behave. But also, for now, be careful. Seeder may seem one way, and you may trust her, but all things can be a ruse."

I laid a hand to his, forcing him to look at me and I asked, "And this?"

"This…?"

"If all things can be a ruse, is this one? You? _This_ you?"

Peeta blinked. "This is the real me, Katniss. As real as I get. Do you believe that?"

I didn't answer; I just stared at him and let my hand fall away. As time waned his body animated itself with sudden upset emotion. Something gripped him… _hard_, and I didn't know what it was; only that he wanted me to believe him. His hand framed my face and his eyes were fevered. "You don't know either of me well, but I know both, and I'm telling you this is the one I want to be. I wish I were this way more… that I was freed more often. I can't give you back what I took from you when I wasn't myself, when I was… tainted. I can't ask you to forgive me for taking away your home, for hurting the ones you love, and for… everything I've forced on you, pain or otherwise, and I won't. I can't promise it won't happen more, or that I won't do something worse in the future, but I promise so long as I breathe and live I will be there with you. I would let you go if that's your wish, but I can't. He… I… no matter if I send you away once I'm… once I'm under different influence I'll only take you back."

"Why?" I asked, gripping his wrists with both my hands. I hated myself for rising to this bait, but I felt the heat burning the back of my eyes before I blinked it away and there was nothing more I wanted than to be free. The fear of him killing me once I bore his son was stronger than ever. "Is it just for the baby? Is that all he wants?" It was strange to speak to Peeta about himself, his other brutal self, and what he wanted me for. "I'll let him have the baby and I'll be gone. I'll never come back."

One of his thumbs stroked down the side of my cheek. Sorrow was in his eyes again.

"He wants the son as much as I do." He hung his head as if in guilt and I felt the fear in me peak.

"Then I'm dead, aren't I? He's going to kill me…"

"Not me," he said… almost as if…

I blinked, surprised. "Who?

He screwed his eyes shut and when they opened again the fever was back, stronger. "I'll never let you die – " he choked slightly at that point, and swallowed, fighting back whatever emotions that was not already plainly shown on his face; such as determination, compassion, guilt, and pain… and it took me a moment to realize he was trying to hide _fear. Was he scared of his other self? _"I'll never let… I'll never be the one to kill you, in either state. I won't do it. And I won't let anyone else hurt you. Glimmer is a seer, potent as she is she's seen your childbirth and claims it your death. But Glimmer's vision be damned, I'll do everything in my power to stop that from happening…"

I picked up on the part where he didn't promise that _he_ wouldn't _hurt_ me – he just wouldn't kill me. It was reassuring, a little, but would have been more so if he wasn't hiding his fear to the fact that he isn't even sure he can keep this promise. _And Glimmer's vision!_ _That's why they are all so smug! _The fact that he kept that from me… should I have expected him to share it? I'm not sure, but I know the idea bewilders me and stings like betrayal. I opened my mouth to say something, something that would surely throw him from this cabin… when I heard a whisper on my skin.

_Beloved child, _it said, in that familiar voice and I froze.

Peeta noticed and his eyes flickered to the doorway. He sat up so suddenly I was left lying there, breathless, and my cheeks suddenly oddly cold without his palms on them. Anger made up Peeta's expression as he stared at something I couldn't see. His hands were fists in his lap. "Go."

"Peeta?" I couldn't see who was there, or if they really were, but Seeder's voice washed over me again.

_Remember why you're here, Katniss, _she said and Peeta turned to stare at me, eyes suspicious and uncertain, and I knew he could hear her words. _Remember what I gave you and why._

Then I knew she was gone, because all sense of her faded and Peeta turned on the mattress to get closer to me. I stared at him, trying not to let my emotions show; distaste, mostly, and confusion, and frustration. I shouldn't be put in this position. I knew exactly what she meant; she needs me to protect him, but how? From what? Am I supposed to coddle him? Did she know what words I was going to say? That they would've been harsh? Perhaps alienate him from me? Did she want to take the opportunity opening up at this moment with Peeta in the state that he is in? He promised to protect me, am I supposed to return it?

Peeta's eyes burned on my face. "What did she mean? How often does she come to you?"

I shrugged, and shook my head at the same time.

"Katniss, please. What did she give you? What for? Have you made a deal with her? What did she mean when she said the reason you're here? Does she want you to harm me? Does she want you to harm Clove?" I raised my eyebrow, because I did not know that name, but he continued on with his questions. "You… Are you planning to betray me again? To kill my people?"

It took a lot of effort to slide my hand over his on the mattress and make the action seem natural. He went completely still at the contact, and the emotional turmoil written all over him froze with it, stuck on one emotion: fragile trust. He still wanted to trust me after all I've done. "The truth?" I asked.

"Nothing less."

This part would be hard. He may not like what I say. I pulled his hand into my lap without thinking, crossing my legs, and fiddling with his fingers. They curled around mine and tightened in the silence and finally I drew in a breath. "You promised not to kill me," I reminded him.

"I won't."

And I believed that.

"Seeder… she gave me… you." The sentence seemed off, and when I chanced a look at his face, I knew he thought so, too. "She says I'm to protect you. I don't know why or how. Or from what. All I know is that…" I took a large breath. "I hated you… I hate _him_… and I'm not really sure if I can trust there is a difference between you and him. But ever since she asked me to protect you, I knew it was this part of you I was supposed to protect."

His fingers contorted around mine, his grip warm and still callused, but gentler than black-eyed Peeta's touch. I dared to look him in the eyes, and I found him smiling. "What? You think I'm joking."

"No," he said. "It's funny, because Seeder told me to protect _you_."

I tried to read him. "Do you need protecting?"

He looked abruptly uncertain. "I have enemies, yes. But none you can fend off."

"Who are you enemies?" Then, I changed my mind. This was a moment of honesty between us… and at that moment I knew I could ask anything so I said, "Actually, first, who are you?

"Haven't you asked me that one too many times?" Peeta chuckled. "I'm your husband. I'm Peeta, son and heir of Troy, a prince with Aphrodite's blood in my veins. What more can I tell you of me?"

"How did there become two of you?" I gripped his hand in both of mine, tightly. "By what circumstances do you change between the two? And how can I make it so this is the one I see most?"

"I can't tell you how, but it happened when I met Clove."

"Who's Clove?"

He looked shocked. "I thought you knew… I guess not. She's… my partner in business."

"What sort of business is the prince of Tory into? I thought this was all about rebuilding your home?"

I could see he was having trouble with his wording. "Not exactly. That's part of what I'm doing…"

"Then what's the other?"

"You're full of questions," he said, smiling tightly. Then he sighed. "I'm… apart of a group. A group of people who got together a few years ago… alright _many_ years ago and decided to rebel against our own gods. The Olympian gods weren't hard to turn on each other, nor was it hard for the others to spark it and influence it… you see all of us comes from an indirect or direct line of these gods and have the ability to both take their power and their places in this world… after we cripple or kill them by taking out their source of power. For the most part, the task is done. The Collapse helped us the most, and the brothers have all been – "

"Zeus?" I gasped. "You've killed him?"

"Thresh did." And he winced as he added, "Thresh is one of my enemies."

"Are the other two as well? The other two who took out Zeus' brothers?"

Peeta looked sheepish for a moment. "I killed Hades, Katniss. I am what he once was. Only I'm not immortal until the moment I make my god well, where I will draw my eternal power. But it needs to be put in the right place, a place where people flourish and where it's safe from others who wish to ruin it."

I was stunned momentarily, unable to come up with a reply to something I hardly understood. What I did understand was that I was married to a god; the god of the Underworld. The power I felt on him, and see in his form wasn't just my imagination and I'm certain everyone else saw it now, too.

I touched his hand differently, wondering if I could have noticed without him telling me.

"Katniss?"

"Sorry." I shook my head and found his eyes. "I just…" Then I heard his entire story, beyond what he said he had become. If the three most powerful of the Olympians have fallen to the rebels, then that means the lesser have as well, right? _Hera. _"And what of the queen?" I asked. "Is Hera dead?"

"Surprisingly, no, she's hidden herself well, and remains the only one still alive. Clove wishes to take her."

"Who else has Clove taken?" I thought I knew but wanted his confirmation.

"Artemis."

"And Poseidon…?"

A troubled look became him and he rubbed at his jaw. "He was killed by a woman named Annie. I met her for the second time today. I hardly remember that first meeting and what she was like when she was more human than goddess. Now… the power doesn't do her good. She's being controlled by it, not the other way around and many of us fear her because of this. However I do not think she is my enemy. And she has invited herself to join us on our voyage. I don't know when or how, but she's made it clear that she will be coming and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Will I meet her?"

"Can I stop that from happening?"

"No. Probably not."

"Then I won't try." I smiled, and when he saw it the surprised pleasure that sparked in his eyes struck me strangely. "You do not think me awful what I've done?" he asked. "For joining in these rebels – we call ourselves the Enlightened – and for forsaking my gods and my foremother in such a way as we have?"

"No," I answered honestly. "What worries me is the idea of you and these people you have described as not even close to stable as our rulers. It makes me angry and afraid for the world… but I'm trying to convince myself that it won't come to that. If I do my job right, it won't be so bad… because it'll be _this_ you up there and holding power and this you doesn't frighten me."

I wasn't sure I felt that way until I spoke the words. When Clove sought out Peeta she must have met this one and seen his potential, but meant to harden him, and though it is effective, I see more potential of leadership in him at this moment than when he was the brute who tore my city from its roots.

Peeta continued to smile at me, until Primrose groaned in her sleep and rolled on a side, waking.

Our conversation was over and he made to leave, but I asked one last question I needed to know.

"How long…?" And I knew he would know what I meant.

"A couple days. Longest I've had yet."

"And you won't forget the instant you… change? You will remember this?" I gestured around the room.

"I won't forget. And you don't either, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "Oh."

"What?"

"I forgot to thank you, for coming through that moment to save my sister. Even though it was partially yours and my fault for her being put into that position of danger… thank you." The words were harder to get out than they should have been, but I hated owing someone. Especially if it's my sister's life. "I didn't say it to you… before because you weren't this you. And I know it had to be this you who did it."

Peeta had paused in the door of the cabin to listen and he leaned into the frame for a moment, contemplating. He had to remember. Of course he did, I could see it in his eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was rueful and amused at the same time. "Actually it was a mutual decision. He likes you."

I arched both my eyebrows in disbelief – and disgust too. This was the strangest conversation, to speak to him about himself, and I'm not still sure I trust this switch. "Are you sure it's him and not you?"

"We both like you, Katniss," and his voice had deepened.

I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react, so I scowled. "Can't you stop him from…"

And he knew exactly what I meant and I saw the blood fall from his face. "I can try."

"Then maybe I can start to forgive you," I said a moment too late, because when I looked up, he was already gone.


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: I love all of your reviews! And I hope you enjoy this extra long treat, so soon after the last update! Thank you for reading, and I disown everything not mine, as always.

* * *

Chapter Seven

We sailed south some nine days. The wind blew briskly at our backs and the seas rolled us gently forward. I remembered all the tales I'd heard about the black nature of this sea, how it never stayed calm longer than a day or two before it blew itself into a ship-eating gale, and how pirates patrolled its surface and monstrous marine worms its depths. But this sea was not that of the tales and rumors. It was unnatural — even I could feel that — as if a god had passed his or her hand over its surface and calmed it for the betterment of our passage.

I watched Peeta closely the first day, wondering if he did this.

Or perhaps it was Annie.

Peeta left me well enough alone for these nine days of sail. During the day I sat with Lavinia, Primrose, and one or two of the other Trojan women on the aft deck, raising our faces to the sunshine, and passing stories between us of children and childbirth. I hated it. I loathed it — could these women talk of nothing else but babies? They even put their hands to my belly — ugh! I felt violated — and felt the shape of the baby within, and nodded their heads sagely, and said it was bound to be a fine son for their prince. They said nothing to me of how this "fine son" had been got on me, or of how it bloated my body most horribly, or of the pains that shot up and down my legs and through my groin when I walked, or of its odious twisting and turning at night when I wanted to sleep, nor even of the pressure the thing put on my bladder so that I dribbled urine at the most inopportune moments. They spoke only of the fine son it was for Peeta, and how that must please me.

I smiled, and nodded, and knew Primrose needed this kind of small attention and small talk to get on through the days. I wouldn't ruin it for her, so I continued to sit there, and hoped they did not see through my eyes to the fear beneath. I could laugh and gossip with the best of them when it came to saving my life. Though I know blue-eyed Peeta promised to keep me safe from others and alive, I didn't know if I could put my faith in black-eyed Peeta once he arrives. So I still feared.

A new fear built in me of a mysterious person, whom was to be my murderer on the baby's birth. In my nightmares they had no gender or face, they were merely a shadow, some dark wisp that came in and slit my throat before Peeta could take a step. Glimmer's visions were heartily believed among Peeta's men, and I knew somewhere deep down Peeta believed the vision, too. How could I not as well?

How could I expect Peeta protect me when he's never done so before?

At night blue-eyed Peeta came to lie beside me, but he rarely spoke to me and made no demands on my body, as promised. He did, nonetheless, disturb me, for when I lay awake at the torment of my own fear and nightmares when he slept he dreamed of such strange things that he tossed and turned and murmured.

Sometimes they were nightmares; terrible ones where he woke gasping and departed immediately, half-mad in the eyes, cold sweat covering his body. Once I asked him what he dreamed of and he told me the past. I shuddered and told myself never to ask again. But also among the night visions that passed through his mind was a dream of a woman. I know this because as I sat wakeful and watching, I heard him murmur to her, and reach for her. Who was she? Someone to replace me once I'd fulfilled my purpose and delivered him a son? Someone he preferred to me? Someone he…liked? He said he liked me but I saw the guilt him at that moment… his pity moved him more than anything in my direction.

Those hours, when I sat there and watched Peeta dream of another woman, were among the blackest I'd ever known. It seemed, then, that any hope I had gained while he promised my protection was lost, and the hope of gaining black-eyed Peeta's regard was very slim indeed.

Sometimes I tried to remember Gale, but under my current trying conditions — the burdensome weight of another man's baby within me, the strangeness of shipboard life, the constant worry that blue-eyed Peeta would disappear and black-eyed Peeta would abandon or murder me once I'd given birth (an even greater fear now I knew he dreamed of another woman, and worse, that it won't be him at all and not under his control) — I found Gale's face ever more difficult to recall.

Besides, he belonged to a life long gone.

On the morning of the tenth day at sea the forward fore-looker cried out, and pointed, and between the scores of craning necks between where I sat on the aft deck and the stem of the ship, I could see a faint line of the horizon. It was an immense land, Lavinia's husband, Pelopan, told me, toward which we sailed. Vaster than could be imagined, and filled with creatures stranger than the wildest fantasy.

"Is this where Peeta leads us?" I asked, hating it that I had to ask Pelopan and so reveal my own complete ignorance of my husband's intentions. "Is this where he will build the new Troy he speaks of so often?"

"Who can know?" he said, and then turned aside to his own wife, holding her hand and smiling with obvious care at her. I felt a sudden surge of ill will toward them. There they stood, simple untutored folk, at ease and in love with each other, while I…I, was condemned to a husband I feared and a child I resented. I scowled at the approaching island then, and when Primrose came to me, she was crying.

Lavinia's deep sighs and condescending pats on her shoulder infuriated me, but at least Peeta was not there to witness my sister's tears. He spent most of the morning shouting and gesturing; doing what all men must, I suppose, when they direct a fleet so large toward a suitable anchorage point.

By noon all the shouting and gesturing had paid dividends, for the entire fleet had anchored in shallow waters off a long sandy beach that appeared to extend for a lifetime to either side of our ships. Beyond the beach rose a low range of hills, covered with brush and topped at one point with two strange stone pillars. These, Pelopan informed me, were what was known as the Altars of the Philistines. When I asked why, he shrugged, but said they were well known among sailors for the natural spring at their base.

The entire afternoon was spent in rafting people to the shore. The word was that this was, indeed, only a temporary stop. We were to camp here some days to stretch our legs, replenish our supplies both with water and with fresh game, and to hear what Peeta had in store for us.

Many of the adults and some of the older children would not wait for their place on the rafts, and jumped overboard from their ships to wade through the shallows to the beach, but I, naturally considering my sister's comfort and my pregnancy, waited for my place on a raft. I was surprised when Peeta came to me and indicated he would aid me to the first of the rafts.

"Will you run?" he asked me, low in my ear. He sounded like he feared I would. I looked back at the strange land I did not know and considered my palace life, then glanced at my bloated body, then my sister's and knew that would be impossible. His worry was misplaced, but rightfully thought of.

"Do I have much choice?" I finally replied.

He did not smile, and he regarded me a moment with uncomfortable speculation, but then he nodded as if I'd somehow answered a question in his mind and helped me down the side of the ship to the raft with more regard and a gentler touch than I'd been lifted on the ship by his hands. Primrose got the same aid.

Cato and Marvel were already waiting on the raft, and Marvel stood and aided me, stone-faced, to a clear spot. I murmured my thanks, and prayed that my plan to win Peeta's companions over might actually be having some effect, or have potential. I cheered considerably thanks to Primrose's excitement to see new land and be free of the rocking ship which had made her quite ill. I did not even flinch when Lavinia dropped aboard so inelegantly that the raft rocked and I was splashed all down my right side with a wash of seawater. She was the last to board, and so, looking one last time to Peeta who was staying aboard to supervise the loading of subsequent raft-loads, I turned to this strange new land where we were to rest for some days, at the least.

* * *

I was this was not where Peeta meant us to stay permanently. Although the beach itself was pleasant enough, the wind that blew from the interior of the land was hot and dry, and carried with it the stink of hardship and toil.

On shore I took Primrose's hand and we walked slowly up the beach, enjoying the coolness of the water that swirled about our ankles. My other hand was at the small of my back, trying to ease some of the discomfort of the child. About us groups of Trojans, clearly relieved to be on dry land once again, were moving tents and cooking pots a little distance into the low hills beyond the beach to set up sheltered camps.

I stopped, and closed my eyes, and sighed in pleasure. Even the hard soil of this land would prove a more comfortable bed than that damned sleeping pallet onboard ship. "Katniss." I opened my eyes and turned, a twist of discomfort in my stomach. It was Cato, Peeta's never far distant friend. He was a harder man than blue-eyed Peeta, and somehow bleaker than the black-eyed one. I sensed that where Peeta might be swayed, Cato was implacable. There were no charms I could use against this man, and so I employed none.

"Yes?" I said.

"You are needed," he began, and his cold eyes slid to my belly, reminding me of exactly why I was needed, then flickered to Primrose, and my hatred for him doubled. "Peeta has landed with the last of our people," not my people, "and is now asking that you join him at his side while he speaks to the assembled gathering."

I tried not to let my surprise show, though I suppose I should have expected this. Peeta was the kind one for who knows how much longer and every moment he doesn't spend on his people is making up to me for something he's done. But… Peeta wanted me at his side while he stood and addressed his people? The same people who had not forgiven me my part in Mesopotamia's slaughter? (Whereas he has forgiven me because of his own part in it, and I have begun to not loathe him for it…) And it was Cato who must bring me this news, when he undoubtedly would prefer it to be him standing at Peeta's side? Ever mindful of the precariousness of my position, I repressed any emotion on my face, nodded, and followed Cato back to where the Trojans gathered, still clinging to Prim's hand.

* * *

"I am graced with the will of Artemis," Peeta said, his voice clear and strong.

I stood slightly to one side of him on a small rise that faced the beach; before us were spread the assembled mass of the Trojans. Although it looked as if I had my eyes on the crowd, I was surreptitiously watching Peeta. I wanted to know how blue-eyed Peeta handled a crowd. And even though I feared this him slipping away greatly, and hated black-eyed Peeta and all he'd done to me, I had to admit he looked magnificent as he stood in the last rays of the afternoon.

Even my king, Primrose's father, had never commanded so much authority, nor exuded so much confidence. And for Hera's sake, he was a god now. He eluded a power that drew me in, and the entire crowd, too, as near as I could tell. Peeta had apparently waded or swam ashore, for his waistcloth clung to him wetly, and his skin gleamed with droplets from the sea. Once his body disgusted me, that first night, but now I could appreciate it. As I watched him move an arm, for no apparent reason I realized he was not wearing his gold bands, and had not been for the past few days – and for another no apparent reason I remembered how, when Peeta lay with me, those bands had always felt hot against my skin. I shuddered, and saw Peeta's eyes shift my way momentarily, and I dropped my eyes quickly.

"We are to travel far to the west," he continued after a moment, "to a land of great beauty and riches. It is called Panem."

_Panem!_ At the articulation of that one word it was if I were back in that strange stone hall of my vision listening to that small girl's laughter, staring through the stone of the arches into the wondrous landscape beyond. And this is where we were going? No wonder I'd dreamed of the stone hall so often since leaving Mesopotamia… I felt a surge of excitement. Seeder presence came to my mind, but I didn't look about to see if she were actually here. All I thought was that wondrous land in my dreams…where I'd felt such a sense of "home" we were going there. And it was no vision at all, but reality? It must be, surely, if that single word recalled the dream so vividly. If Seeder planted the seed.

Panem…I rolled it silently about my mouth, and found it sweet, in a cloying way.

Peeta was talking of how this Panem occupied the southern part of a white-cliffed island called Albion. As he spoke I allowed myself to dream a little of this new land — my visionary land, and every time Peeta said the name of "Panem" I felt another small surge of energy spark against my skin.

One of my hands strayed to my belly, and suddenly the word wasn't so sweet. Would I be alive by the time we got there? Albion was far, much farther away than two months, and I was due to die in childbirth. The thought that I would never make it there was… disappointing, and I hardened my face.

Peeta's voice spoke on, and my mind drifted further into a sea of uncertainty. If he did manage to protect me, or I managed to myself, or Glimmer was wrong, than wouldn't that mean I would make it to Panem? There he'd build his well, become immortal, and… hadn't he promised to make me queen? I never wanted that, nor do I still want it, but I wondered what it might be like to stand as queen beside Peeta, a god, in Panem. I became vaguely aware that under my hand my belly was unnaturally hot, and that my fingers and palm were throbbing with that heat, but that awareness did not distract me from my train of thought. It the hand that covered mine that drew me up short. There, in front of me, was the fey goddess of my dreams. Seeder smiled at me, and I knew no one else could see her there in front of me.

_What is it? _I thought to her.

She did not answer, only stared down at my stomach, smiled again, and then dissipated.

I heard the sound of another man's voice and I blinked, and came back to the moment, dropping my hand from my belly. Peeta had apparently finished his address, and was now standing, answering some questions from the crowd. One man asked if the people of Panem would welcome the Trojans, and Peeta hesitated before answering. "It is possible they will not do so," he said, "but we have the gods with us, and we will prevail." There was a murmuring at that, but from what I could see most people seemed reasonably accepting of what Peeta had told them. I was not surprised. Peeta had molded the crowd just right… and it struck me suddenly in horror: he'd even had me daydreaming of him!

Peeta must have seen my slight movement from the corner of his eye, for he turned to me and told me to make my way down to the campfires, that I should eat and rest, and not weary myself overmuch in this desert air. And I nodded, jaw clenched, hoping beyond hope he had not seen Seeder or my thoughts.

* * *

I are sparingly, washing down the food with healthy draughts of the barely watered wine; justifying the wine as an antidote to the effects of the hot wind that blew continuously from the interior of this land.

Across the camp I could see Peeta talking with Primrose. He used his hand a lot, gesturing, and she nodded, small and swollen thing that she is, and eventually she was crying. I wanted to retrieve her then, but I could tell even from the distance that he was trying to apologize to her. I gave him a chance.

When I had done, and had drunk enough to sate my thirst, I rose, and told Lavinia to leave me be, as I needed to relieve myself at some distance among the scrubby bushes of the hills. A lie, but she subsided, nodding sympathetically and remembering, I suppose, her own numerous pregnancies. Sometimes it helped to be a breeding woman among breeding women. I did indeed take the opportunity to explore unheeded, and with Primrose busy, the silence was calming. I meant only to stay in nearby bushes and turn back, but then, instead of returning to the fireside, I walked farther into the hills, drawn as if mesmerized by the hot wind that blew in my face.

The wine I had drunk throbbed in my blood, and I shook out my hair from its restraints and let it blow free, relishing its freedom. I climbed to the top of the first hill, and stopped to catch my breath. Once I would have been limber enough to run up this gentle slope and not need to pause for breath at all…but not now. I drew in deep, grateful breaths, gazing over the hills rolling into the distance.

In this evening twilight the shrubs that covered their slopes gave the hills a purple aspect, and I stood entranced by the sight, my imagination wondering what lay beyond them in this strange land. I had never known anything beyond my mother's whorehouse and the king's palace. I breathed in deep once more, and found it easy, so I walked down the far slope of this hill and toward the next, pushing my way through the shrubs, tilting back my head and letting their thorny stems catch at my hair.

It seemed like freedom, somehow; this wilderness about me.

This next hill was steeper, its footing more slippery and stony, and I took far longer to climb its height. Yet when I did so, and stood, hands on belly, gasping in the sweet night air, the view seemed even more entrancing, the successive rolling waves of hills even more seductive. I wondered how many people had been seduced deeper and deeper into these hills, and where their bones lay, and if they had been picked clean by strange beasts, or left, to be scrubbed white by the sun and the wind.

"Katniss," said a voice so gently behind me, and a soft hand caught at my elbow. I turned, but did not pull away my arm. I was somehow not surprised to find him behind me. "I had not thought you the one to be so entranced by such wildness," he said, smiling, and I, still under the spell of the hills and the wine and that single word he had spoken hours ago, smiled back.

Peeta drew up to my side, and let go my arm, standing to look over the hills, now almost invisible in the darkening night. His own body, virtually naked save for the waistcloth, was golden and exotic, the linen of the cloth gleaming very white against the tan of his skin. A sensation of heat flowed down the length of my spine and I realized, without any surprise at all, that it was desire.

"Were you running away?" he asked, still looking at the hills.

"Where to?" I said, but Peeta frowned and I dropped the game. "No, Peeta, I was not running away."

"I'm glad."

An urge to say something sung in me. I drew in a heavy breath, and pushed the exhale through my teeth. Nervous? No, I couldn't be. I peeked at him out the corner of my eye and said, "I can never decide if I should hate you, or tolerate you… or…" and I did not finish that statement out loud.

"Or?" Peeta prompted, turning to me.

I shook my head, and without thinking too greatly about it, he reached down a hand to the untied tangles of black hair around my shoulders and ran his fingers through it, his expression unknown to me.

"You should hate me," he decided. "But I don't want you to be afraid of me."

His hand drifted to my face, running over my chin, and up my jaw. I closed my eyes. "I'm not afraid."

"Not now?"

"Not now."

I could feel him draw closer, feel his breath on my face. And for once my stomach didn't clench in disgust. My hands moved to lay flat against his bare chest. It was the first time I had ever done so, the first time I had freely touched him. I had seen all of him, and smelled him, and felt him brush over my skin so many nights of these past seven months, but I had loathed all of it, all of him for it, and I had never wanted to touch him as I did now.

Peeta's hand on my face was caressing passed my lips when he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

I did not answer, not with words, but he drew me in close to him, our bodies pressed hard against each other, one of his hands burying into my hair. I found my breath short, and my throat dry. The wind threw my hair like veil about us, whipped against our cheeks like a swarm of barbarous, biting bees, devouring us in its wildness until there was nothing but his warmth and the scent of his maleness and his hand centering my universe. When I opened my eyes again, his mouth was parted, and I could see the glint of his tongue, and smell the sweet musk of his breath. My own breath grew even shorter, and I relaxed in his arms and against the entire length of his body. His face drew closer, and I felt his lips brush my forehead and my cheek, and then the rough wetness of his tongue sliding along the line of my jaw.

I shuddered. I remembered when he first kissed me and I'd slapped him, and he'd made sure never to kiss me again, not since then. But now he asked. Was he waiting for me to give my permission?

Should I?

"Sometimes you can be so sweet," he whispered. "And I want to die for all I've done to you."

In my state the thought of him dying, not seeing him again, blue-eyed or black-eyed, or god, was horrifying and my hands on his chest snaked around his neck and pulled him deeper to me. I closed my eyes again, and sent a pray to Seeder – _please, please, let this be the real him, and not make me a fool._

"Yes," I whispered, and I wondered if I am allowing my rapist/kidnapper or my savoir from my rapist/kidnapper to kiss me.

As his mouth moved very close to mine, one of his hands grazed down the side of my waist, gripping my hip, fingers on my hips bone, and I pressed myself hard into his hand. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." That time my voice came out harder, and I raised my face to his. Our mouths grazed, I felt the warm slipperiness of his tongue as it slid briefly, tantalizingly, between my lips, and I relaxed completely, utterly, and opened my mouth to his.

And almost fell to the ground as abruptly he let me go and stood back.

"Peeta?" I asked.

He was gripping his hair and turned his back to me. I reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, but he flinched away from my touch and I drew back. "Go," he said, but I frowned and remained stubborn.

"What's the matter?"

He was shaking then, and I felt something heavy hit my feet. He'd told me of Annie, of how she shook like a leaf clinging to a tree in fall, and I wondered if that was this. If the power he'd taken was going to control him, instead of the other way around. _I can't that happen! _a voice inside me shouted and I stepped closer to him. "Peeta, look at me." He didn't move. "Please…"

The please got him to turn my way an inch or so, and I slid a hand up his back, softly. He shuddered and the shaking stopped. His fingers still clenched and twisted in his hair, though. "What is it?"

Peeta didn't reply in words, and didn't have to. He raised his head from his hands and met my gaze and I flinched away from the black spreading through the blue in his irises. He gripped my wrist before I could put distance between us, and he tugged me closer, and I reeled away, thinking he meant to strike me, but instead he wrapped his arms around my torso and _clung_. As if I were weight to hold him down.

Reluctantly I laid my arms around his shoulders and upper back, and curled them around, my hands resting in his blonde curls, shifting through them. They were soft, and I could hear his heavy breathing, and from where his ear lay I knew he could hear the galloping of my heart. Scared of him, now, scared if I misstep, and of how abruptly he'd changed, and of when he changed, with me so close…

He was gritting his teeth in effort I didn't understand, and I continued to pet his hair for a while, familiar to the act thanks to Primrose. And then it struck me something else I used to do for Prim.

"Do you want me to sing?" I asked him.

His jaw remained clenched, though his throat worked tightly, and he wanted to say something, and I drew back – despite his hands grappling to keep me close – and looked down at him. His eyes were more black than blue now, and when he opened his mouth, he spoke harshly, his words bitten off weirdly, "I thought I repulsed you…" he said. He stopped, fighting with himself, then continued. "Or was it that the only reason you could bear me so close just now was because you were screaming Gale's name over and over in your mind?"

"Peeta…" I warned, and his hands tightened painfully around me.

"You bitch," he said. "Did you think that your sudden display of wantonness would fool me?"

And he flung me away from him, and I barely retained my balance. I was scowling now, scared but not wanting to admit it, and desperate to have the other him back. "I never meant those words, Peeta."

A lie.

"Yes! Yes, you did! Those words must be the only truths I've ever had from your mouth. Look at you..." and he eyed me in distaste and I shrank a little on the inside, my resolve to recover what seemed entirely lost forgotten. "Do you think that now I could possibly want you? Now that I am what I am."

"I'm sorry," I said, slowly, my eyes steady on his. I risked all by placing one of my hands on his arm. His muscles tensed at my touch, but he did not throw me off, and I drew a little closer. "I'm sorry."

_How bitter the words are, now, when it should be him apologizing to me._

"Do you think I am going to kill you? Do you?" The words came out of nowhere, and bitterly.

Despite blue-eyed Peeta's promises I said, "Yes."

"Good," he said, and the coldness in his tone was horrifying. "I think you can only be trusted when you are terrified." But I saw something flash in his eyes briefly, something akin to _fear_. I was not the only one lying tonight. I found new resolve to pull him back from this bleak state, so I mirrored what he'd done to me tens nights ago, and I lifted my hands to his face and placed both on his cheeks, holding his face steady there. I forced him to look me in the eyes, and he remained still and fuming, staring back.

I opened my mouth, drew in a breath and began what I had sung so many times to Primrose:

_"Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open, the sun will rise."_

For a moment Peeta continued indifferent, until I drew a thumb down his cheek his eyes lulled shut.

_"Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true…"_

I paused, and felt his hands reach for my waist, pulling me close again, clinging. I let go his face as he buried it in the crook of space between my shoulder and head, lips pressing into my throat.

_"Here is the place where I love you."_

I sung the line softer than the rest, cautious of the lyrics, said so close to his ear. He didn't react.

_"Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

_Forget your woes and let your troubles lay_

_And when again it's morning, they' ll wash away._

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm"_

The final lines are barely audible.

_"Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you."_

Once the song was done, I became aware how dark and silent it was upon the hill. In the distance beyond Peeta's back I could make out the Trojan's campfires on the beach and I wondered if they noticed our absence. I knew I should return to Prim, if not return Peeta to his people, but I stayed put this time, not willing to pry his hands away from me as he held on, and hopefully pulled himself back into the man that I considered my husband, and worth protecting.

For a long while we stood. After some time I began to pet his hair again, and Peeta's breathing grew regular. His hands on my back traced shapes into my clothes and I closed my eyes and wondered what.

Finally, he drew away and his eyes were blue. I sighed extravagantly, sagging in my skin.

"Better?" I asked.

Peeta's head hung a fraction too low, but he nodded. "I don't know what came over me…"

"The power…?"

"No." He shook his head and then turned to the side and gazed up at the stars. "It is as Clove promised."

The mention of Clove troubled me and I hugged myself and stayed where I was. "What do you mean?"

He touched his bare arms, where the golden bands should be. "The bands aren't actually mine. They belonged to a god… the god of poison, she said, and his power and being still lingers in them. When I wear them I become more like him, and they… well they make me what you consider my other self. They dull things like guilt and regret, and pain, even. They give me his power and strengthen the emotions like anger and ambition in me. If not entirely put them there. And she said they would soon seep into me, and become a part of me, even if I am not wearing them…"

I back tracked, trying to understand. "The bands are the difference?"

"Yes."

How had I not noticed? I shook myself and asked, in horror, "So… you'll lose the control to switch?"

"I never had the control, Katniss. Clove is the only one who can take the bands on and off of me."

"Then why do you trust her?" I demanded. "How could you allow her to do it?"

He turned to me, helplessness lightening up his face. "I can't turn on her. I can't! She's all I've had since the moment I was exile, after my father…" and he choked there, too. I remembered he'd murdered his own father, but it occurred to me for the first time that it might have been set up. "At first I thought the bands were harmless, that they only helped me, and it wasn't until she takes them off that I believe them truly bad. But when she comes back to put them back on… she's a goddess, I can't overpower her, and by the time the bands are on I forget why I was resisting her at all."

"You're her prisoner?"

"No!" he said to hastily. _He's a prisoner in denial. _"I made the pact with her as much as the others. I can't pull out of something like that. This isn't some silly agreement. This is war."

"The war is almost over and… you're going to start another if you attack Thresh," I pointed out.

Peeta scrubbed both his hands over his face. "I know that."

"You've already got more than you can handle. You're going to be immortal soon, along with all the others, and do you really want to start that? An immortal war, such as the Olympians had? You saw what that did to the world, and you want to be responsible for that kind of destruction?"

Tension filled his form and I froze, trying not to turn him once more into the monster.

Had I pushed too hard?

"Katniss," Peeta said, and sounded like him, soft and guilty. "It's more complicated than that."

And with that he straightened, took my arm and walked me back to camp without another word.

* * *

Peeta kept his people five days in the hills surrounding the Altars of the Philistines. Each day hunting parties ventured into the wild lands beyond the hills, bringing back fresh kills of stringy hare and the small antelope that fed off the shrubs. The fresh meat was welcomed. Most of it was dried in the sun for eating once the fleet put to sea again, some of it was consumed within hours of being brought back to camp, roasted on open fires with some of the herbs and oils the Trojans had packed in their ships.

On the sixth day, at dawn, Peeta gave the order to reembark. The loading went quickly — people were now used to the rafts and loading procedures — and by late morning the fleet was under way again, sailing due west. Clove words had spoken true; Peeta need not worry for a thing, for as soon as he'd given the order to weigh anchor, a stiff easterly breeze sprang up. Ship captains raised their great square linen sails, and the oarsmen stowed their oars and reclined on their benches, enjoying the feel of their ships slicing through the blue-green waters of the great central sea.

They kept the line of the coast on their port beam, and many a curious eye ran over the landscape that they passed. Now desert, now more verdant oasis, now hilly, now flat, many among the Trojans wondered at what lay deeper within this vast continent they sailed past. Sometimes the wind carried the howls of exotic beasts, sometimes the scents of spices strange and rare. Sometimes people appeared on the beaches, watching the massive fleet as it sailed past. They wore long, hooded, and brightly colored robes, and leaned on long crooks similar to shepherd crooks. They never waved, nor shouted. They merely watched; praying, perhaps, that this fleet would continue onward, and not stop to ravage their lands.

Peeta kept the ships at sail for eight days and nights. His people slept as best they could among the press of other bodies, bundles of clothing and blankets, amphora of water and wine and the constantly fidgeting goats and sheep they carried with them. During the day there was little else to do save watch the passing coastline, peer over the sides of the ship into the deep clear waters of the sea in an effort to spy sea monsters, play at dice or boral stones, pass the time idly gossiping with their neighbors, or wonder at what awaited them in this new land. Very few people had any complaints about where Peeta led them. They knew they might well be sailing into possible hardship, even conflict, but they were sailing into freedom, and in doing so they were reclaiming their proud heritage and nobility.

Peeta had made them Trojans again; he had handed back to them their self-respect.

* * *

Peeta did not spend his entire time shouting orders, or contemplating his future building New Troy.

And to his supreme relief, no other incident like the one in the hills occurred again.

Sometimes, when he had time to rest, and sit and enjoy the sun and the sea spray that washed over the sides of the ship, Peeta followed Katniss with his eyes, watching her. Thinking. He'd left Primrose and Lavinia to share her cabin since that first night at the Altars of the Philistines, after what he'd said and done, preferring to bed down with the single men and warriors. He was still furious with himself over ruining that perfect moment, when she let him kiss her. He didn't know what came over him, only that suddenly he was angry at her, for those spiteful words to him in their bed, for her treachery that had caused so many deaths in Mesopotamia, and, most of all, for her false seductiveness in the hills behind the Altars of the Philistines.

But had it been false? He didn't think so at first, but the other side of him was certain of it.

He'd followed her into the hills because he'd wondered, despite his words to Cato, if she had some new treachery planned, or if she thought of escape. To have her turn to him, and touch him as if she truly desired him, and press herself against him was beyond belief. Gods! He had wanted her (which deepened his other side's anger unintentionally), but though blue-eyed Peeta was fine with being fooled, black-eyed Peeta would _not_ be. She'd spent the past seven months making perfectly plain to him that she despised him, and that she preferred that immature child-boy Gale fumblings to what he could offer (and he knew he could arouse her, he knew it!). What was she doing? What game was she playing?

Well, he would not play it with her. His one half would not allow himself to be fooled by her.

Blue-eyed Peeta however… he did not mind being fooled if it meant her close to him.

That is _if_ he was being fooled.

The fact that she did not flee when he brought up the matter of killing her strengthened his belief that she was not trying to fool him. The fact that she did not shun him once he changed over helped, too.

_And her singing…_

He'd never heard such a compelling voice, and wished she would never stop. And would always sing. But the song had ended and with it his suspicions and the horrible tide of something else faded as well.

Another horrible certainty came with that other half of him, the one connected to the bands; Clove waited him, a woman who could truly partner him, who had promised herself to him from the moment they met…the true antithesis to Katniss. And what would she do if she thought she was losing to her?

The thought horrified him, because he knew Clove, ruthless as she was, and protecting Katniss deepened to mean something else. He couldn't let Clove see his affection for his wife (returned or not), or Katniss' life would surely be forfeit. Yet despite the knowledge that he had to stay away from her to keep her safe, as Seeder told him to and as he promised Katniss to do, he continually found his eyes drawn to Katniss. Surreptitiously, whenever she was unaware of his regard, Peeta would watch her. Katniss' belly was large now, ungainly, but even though she was so far into her pregnancy, she'd still found the time to continue growing herself. She'd gained a little height, and both her face and her limbs had lost much of their palace life roundness – and if Peeta cared to notice, he'd realize Primrose had grown as well. But there was a grace and sureness to Katniss' movements — the tilt of her head as she laughed (rare as it was), the languid sweep of her hand through the air as she pointed out something to her sister — and Peeta did not know how he did not notice all this about her before.

Often he would listen to her speak, telling stories to her sister to distract the child's mind, and he wondered if she sung at night in the cabin to Prim and weather he dare to eavesdrop. But then he shook himself. What he should want is for her to grow fat and ugly, so that he could truly despise her, and then she can be safe. One part of him hated it that in almost everything she did she only made him want her more. And the other side hated that he could not have her, despite her being his wife.

Both hated it that when she turned and saw him looking at her, the light faded from her face.

Both hated it most of all that whenever he thought of Glimmer's prophecy that she would die in childbed, he felt a terrifying sense of loss.

* * *

On the eleventh day after leaving the altars of the Philistines the fleet approached a green and verdant land on their port beam. For the next day and a half they sailed past large towns, even cities, that appeared at regular intervals along the coast or just inland.

In midafternoon of the twelfth day a large port city appeared at the mouth of a sluggish river, and Peeta called to the captains of the fleet to lower their sails and to set the anchors. He, accompanied by some five other men, set out in a small rowboat to the port from where he did not return until the next morning at dawn. With him came several moderately sized sailing vessels well-staffed with men who were, the Trojans were relieved to note, only lightly armed.

Peeta climbed back into his flagship, smiling at Cato and Marvel who stood anxiously by. Behind them Katniss, face and body still, waited with Lavinia. Her eyes did not once leave Peeta. "We have made new friends," Peeta said, grinning as Cato, then Glimmer came forward from the ship and clasped his hand and arm. "This land is called Mauritania, and it is a rich and well-ordered and supplied realm."

His grin widened as Glimmer let go his hand, and she said, "But not so rich they are not willing to part with some of their supplies for a portion of the gold and jewels you said we carried with us."

Many laughed.

"Will we stop here?" Katniss asked, her eyes now moving past Peeta to the city about the port.

He looked at her thoughtfully, wondering at her motives for the question. "No. We stay only the length of time it takes the Mauritians to ferry out to each of our ships fresh supplies of water, grain, and fruit." He looked back to Cato and Marvel, and the ship's captain with them. "It is too late in the summer to linger. We leave as soon as we can."

They sailed the next day in the hour after dawn.

* * *

Far, far away Clove stood by a still pond, staring at the vision she could see in its mirrored waters. A hundred black-hulled ships, sailing toward the Pillars of Hercules… Peeta in the lead. Closing her eyes, and summoning her power, Clove called on Annie, who stirred into turmoil at the call, but appeared.

The bewildering beauty stared down at Clove with at least four inches of height. "What?" she asked.

"Do you remember our deal?" Clove asked casually, drawing a hand over the surface of the pond.

"I remember." Annie glanced at the action and the ripples in the pond stilled at once and faded. "But tell me again what you need. Exactly? I don't want to get this wrong… I get a lot wrong…"

Clove smirked up at the Goddess of the Sea.

For all her kind words and reassurances to Peeta, Clove intended to cripple this fleet long before it reached Panem for the purpose of the plan, of course… and perhaps even finally rid herself of this mewling child Peeta had taken to wife while she's at it. Clove hated the way thoughts of Katniss constantly filled Peeta's mind. It was beyond time that the bloated thrall was disposed of, and far before she had a chance of giving birth. Peeta would have to survive without his precious son.

Clove stood, leaned into Annie and whispered the plan to exact measure.

"And then…" Annie licked her lips. "And then I shall have he who prays to me so well?"

"Yes," Clove promised. "But only if all goes as planned."

* * *

Late in the afternoon land masses to the north and south had closed in upon the fleet so that ahead lay only a relatively narrow strait of sea between two headlands. Peeta — standing in the stem of his ship with the captain, Cato, Glimmer, and two other experienced sailors — looked ahead, clearly worried.

Then he glanced upward toward the sky that had, in the past hour, clouded over until they were almost as crowded by low-hanging black clouds as they were by the headlands. "So much for "Artemis'" pledge for calm seas," Cato muttered, and Peeta threw him a dirty look.

"I have been through the Pillars of Hercules once before," said the captain, Aldros. "It can be a perilous journey in the best of seasons, let alone when a storm threatens to close in about us."

"How many ships abreast?" said Peeta. If he sailed the fleet through single file it would take hours to get them all to safety.

"Five, possibly six," said Aldros, his dark eyes narrowed in his weather-beaten face as he stared ahead. "But even then the captains of the ships on the outer extremities will need to be careful. There are rocks there" — he pointed — "and there, and there."

"Do we sail, or row?" said Peeta, now watching Aldros more carefully than either the sea ahead or the sky above.

"We row," said Aldros. "The Pillars of Hercules is the meeting point of two great seas, the central sea, which we leave, and the great gray infinity that stretches to the west, into which we enter. Tides and waves pull and push in every direction. If we depend on sail, we are likely to be dashed on the rocks to either side of the pillars. The oarsmen must prove their worth if we are to survive. Ye gods, Peeta, I hope you trained the new crews well in the months we waited in Mesopotamia."

"Well," said Peeta, "now we will find out. Aldros, will you organize the passing of instructions between ships? We sail five abreast, and we do it before night falls. Tell the captains to stow their sails, and to tie everything down. The crews must take to their oars, and passengers must huddle as deep in the bellies of the ships as they can."

Aldros nodded, and hurried off to speak to some of his sailors. The next moment the great sail started to come down. "My friend," Peeta said to Cato without turning to him, "will you see to the people in this ship? Get them low and tightly packed."

As Cato moved off, Glimmer turned to Peeta. "I cannot see what is to come," she said, distressed.

"That's alright," Peeta allowed, and smiled at her, hardly. "I think this is no coincidence."

"Poseidon?" Glimmer asked, ignorant to many of Peeta's secrets.

_Or Annie, _Peeta thought. He had thought about her once or twice, wondering when she would come.

Is this her coming?

After dismissing Glimmer Peeta picked his way toward the aft deck of the ship. Katniss, Primrose, Lavinia, and two other women were sitting in the small space beside the cabin. They stared at Peeta, and sometimes beyond him to the gray seas between the Pillars of Hercules, their faces tense and worried. Peeta saw Katniss finger her belly briefly, and then kiss Prim's hair and whisper in her ear.

For the first time he began to truly worry about the trial ahead. He had so many vulnerable people in this fleet… He reached the women, and smiled, but because the smile did nothing to wipe the concern from his blue eyes, none of the four women smiled back.

"We have heard rumors of storms and danger ahead," said Katniss. "Will we be safe?" He didn't miss how her arms momentarily tightened around her little sister.

He hesitated, and then realized that because of that hesitation nothing he said would relieve the women's anxiety. He shrugged, and decided to be truthful. "I don't know. Normally a storm, even a bad one, would not concern me overmuch. But in these narrow straits, with these rocks, and with so many people packed into these ships." He paused, sighed, and said again, "I don't know."

One of the women sitting with them, Atala, gave a low moan of terror.

He glanced at Katniss: she was obviously fearful, but calm.

"You cannot stay on the aft deck," he said to the women. "It is too exposed should the sea rise and rage."

"We will huddle with the others below in the belly of the ship," said Katniss. "Do not worry about us. We will be well."

Peeta stared at her, surprised at her taking charge. He supposes she could have always been a take charge kind of woman, but under recent circumstances and by his forceful terms of meeting her, this side of her had been buried behind what had all happened. He rather liked her this way; as herself.

He nodded. "Wrap yourselves well in blankets — anything to keep you dry if the waves toss themselves over the side of the ship. And whatever happens, whatever you see or hear, stay where you are. There will be no greater safety anywhere else."

"We shall wrap our arms about each other and tell each other childish rhymes," Primrose said, trying unsuccessfully to smile, "and we will not get in the way." For a moment Peeta remember apologizing to this slip of a girl, and she had – though he knew Katniss disapproved – and he smiled at her.

Peeta admired their composure. They could have made things hard for him; instead, it appeared as if they were going out of her way to make things easier, even though they were fearful themselves. He nodded. "Thank you," he said, and he left.

Katniss turned to the other women and began to urge them into the belly of the boat.

A half hour later, just as the first waves of ships had entered the straits between the pillars, a storm of supernatural proportion bore down on the fleet.

* * *

Many years before, when he had been a child, Peeta had heard the sound made by a massive block of stone falling fifteen paces onto stone pavement. The noise that the winds made now, as they met in the center of the straits, reminded him of that, although it was ten times more powerful, and accompanied by a shrieking and raging such as no mortal ear normally heard during its lifetime.

Whipped on by the winds, the seas rose into great jagged gray-green cliffs, plunging and swirling in such a manner that the entire world about and within the ships collapsed into swirling, drenching horror.

Peeta, who had tied himself to the stem post of the ship so that the seas would not sweep him overboard, screamed at the oarsmen — as within every one of the hundred ships in his fleet captains and officers screamed at oarsmen — to dig in and stabilize the chaotic spinning of the ships. The oarsmen, fighting down their terror, dug in their oars into the waters in the dip-and-hold maneuver they'd practiced a thousand times on dry land. They did well, holding their oars steady against the massive pressures battering against both oars and ships, but no matter how well they managed to hold the maneuver, the ships would not stabilize. Not in this sea, not amid this degree of rage.

Katniss and her companions crouched as deep as they could within the belly of the ship, already drenched despite their thick covering of blankets, hardly daring to breathe in the extremity of their fear.

Still alongside Katniss, Primrose, and Lavinia, Atala had begun to wail and shriek, sure that her life was near to ending. The storm's intensity increased, and ships were driven far apart.

Peeta, watching half terrified, half enraged at his post, saw one of them lifted high on an immense wave, then plummet down its face to dash against the rocks at the base of one of the pillars. There was a brief glimpse of bodies being hurled through the air, and then the swirling waters ate the entire ship and its people and cargo. Within seconds there was no sign the ship had ever existed.

"Cursed be you!" Peeta screamed at the waters. He bared his teeth into the storm and shook his fist at the rain that sleeted down. "Cursed be you!"

As if in answer, thunder boomed through the air, resounding horribly through the flesh of everyone who heard it, then three gigantic streaks of lightning seared through the grim sky: each one hit the mast of a ship. All three masts exploded, sending bodies and cargo spinning helplessly into the wild seas.

Atala, clinging to Lavinia and Katniss, suddenly lost all her reason. She shrieked, tearing herself from their hands, and, rising to her feet as best she could manage amid the violent motion of the ship, fought her way toward the aft deck, perhaps thinking to shelter in the cabin. Lavinia called after her, holding out hopeless arms, but it was Katniss who rose, leaving Prim in Lavinia's arms and, carefully, inch by inch, made her way after Atala.

"No!" she shouted to the woman. For some reason Katniss couldn't let her harmed. She knew what fear gripped the woman, and Atala might not have been her friend, but a companion in the least. "Wait!"

Far behind them, clinging to the stem post, Peeta saw the two women. For a moment he could not make out their identity amid the dense sea spray and foam, but then he saw the distinctive shape of the second woman, and realized who she was.

"Katniss!" he screamed and, untying himself from his anchor, struggled toward them.

* * *

Clove lifted her head and smiled at Annie. The unstable woman stood before her, eye closed, concentrating on the storm she brew on the fleet. Occasionally Clove saw Annie's jaw tightened or she shook in the shoulders, but it made no matter. As long as she did what was asked…

And though Annie had declined to do one task of Clove's… concerning Katniss…

Well, Atala would prove to be such a useful tool.

* * *

Peeta struggled through the length of the boat, tripping and falling several times as his feet caught first in those of one of the oarsmen, and then twice in the crevices between the huddled terrified bodies crouching in the belly of the ship.

Before him he could see the two women in the aft deck, struggling and swaying in the violent motion of the ship. And, in one moment when the spray cleared for an instant and a gap appeared in the monstrous waves that surrounded the ships, Peeta saw that behind his ship another had been caught in the raging waters, and was dashed against the rocks. Terror gripped him.

"Clove, aid me!" he whispered, and fought his way farther aft.

* * *

"Eventually," Clove whispered. "But not yet."

Annie moaned across from her.

* * *

Peeta managed to reach the struggling women, realizing that Katniss was in fact trying to pull Atala back into the belly of the ship. "Comply!" Peeta cried as he grabbed hold of Atala. She shrieked, trying to wrench herself away from both Katniss and Peeta.

Peeta let go of her arm with one hand, and grabbed both her shoulders, shaking her slight, hoping it was strong enough to knock some sense into her. He spoke quickly and loudly over the storm, and tried to calm the woman in a gentle way, but she was insensible, and his way proved entirely ineffective.

Suddenly, Atala wretched away from him completely, then, stunningly, grabbed Katniss around the shoulders and drew her toward the edge of the craft. Unheard by Peeta, low in Katniss' ear she spoke: "Time for you to die, you stubborn whore," Atala said, almost conversationally.

Katniss, terrified, tried to tear herself free, but Atala suddenly seemed possessed of supernatural strength. Her hands tightened about Katniss' wrists, and smiling calmly, all her previous terror apparently vanished Atala dragged Katniss a little closer to the deck railing.

Above them a gigantic wave rose, then crashed down, washing the two women toward the very edge of their deaths, and Peeta back farther toward the relative safety of the mid-deck. Peeta was momentarily blinded by the stinging salt water, and knocked breathless by the force of its blow. When he managed to rub the water from his eyes, and blink some focus back into his vision, he saw that Atala had fallen over the side of the ship, dragging Katniss, who was desperately pulling back, almost completely over the railing.

Peeta could not find the breath to shout. All he could see was Katniss' terrified face and her desperate cries as she tried to resist Atala's determination to murder her. Without thinking, Peeta threw himself at his wife, wrapping his arms about her hips, and pulling her back with all his might.

"Let her go!" he finally managed to gasp at Atala. "Let her go!"

"No," whispered the demented woman, falling ever closer to the waves. "She's mine, now."

Katniss fell forward even farther, and her scream was high and thin, the loudest she's ever screamed. It rang in Peeta's mind like a bell and his heart galloped painfully. He felt his grip on her hips sliding.

"_Peeta!"_ Katniss shrieked. Atala sneered… and tugged at Katniss' struggling form so that Katniss now hung almost entirely from the ship. Only Peeta's grip on her robe kept her from going over completely.

"Peeta!" Katniss whimpered, and horrifyingly, Peeta realized it was a form of farewell.

From somewhere came a rage and a strength he did not think he possessed. Pulling himself upright, he leaned over the ship's railing, grabbed Katniss' sodden hair in his right hand and with his left fist dealt a fearsome blow into Atala's face. Her nose and cheekbones caved inward, sending a spray of blood into the wind… and then her hands opened, and she was gone, and Peeta was dragging Katniss back on deck.

For a moment he relished in the feel of Katniss clinging to _him_.

Until she looked up and saw his eyes and hers widened in horror. Katniss pushed away from him, falling back onto her bottom on the deck, and did not tear her eyes away from his black ones.

Then, as soon as Atala's body hit the water, the storm wondrously abated. Peeta and Katniss both looked up, wiping the seawater from their eyes and blinking in the sudden light. A woman stood on the deck before them, dry and serene despite the wildness of rain and wind. "Clove!" Peeta said, and Katniss felt something turn to ice inside her at what she heard in his voice. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"It is enough," the woman said, then turned her eyes to Katniss, "if not altogether quite enough."

Then she was gone.

Katniss rubbed at her eyes — they were still filmy and sore with the salt water, and she could not see very well. "Who was that?" she whispered; her voice sore from the water that she swallowed.

Peeta hesitated. "Clove," he said finally.

_No_, a small, ancient voice said deep within Katniss.

_No. No. No._

_That was the goddess that gave me the plans to turn on you back in Mesopotamia._

_The goddess who gave me the means to do what I had done, and see! See what it has done!_

Katniss knew in that instant she'd been fooled. Clove had been the one who came to her that late night in Peeta's bed, back in the palace. Clove had been the goddess who whispered the deals that could be made in her ear, and must have laughed when Katniss enacted the plan. Clove was not the sister Hera had talked of. But Katniss had thought she was… and it had led to the destruction that was her home.

* * *

Clove sat very still, re-gathering her strength. Annie accomplished most of what she'd wanted — the crippling of Peeta's fleet so that it would need to seek out a port in which to shelter for repairs — but she had not managed to murder Katniss, and that frightened her more than a little.

Peeta had tried very, very hard to save Katniss. Far harder than Clove had thought he would. Her strength had given out just as Peeta had seemed to find some extra, and the silly Atala had not managed to pull Katniss over the side at all.

Still, the fleet was all but crippled, and for now Clove must content herself with that.

"Now?" It was Annie, and Clove fought back a sigh.

"Not yet."

* * *

None of the fleet managed to come through the frightful storm unscathed, but only five ships in total perished. The remaining ships limped through the straits of the Pillars of Hercules in various states of damage; many completely de-masted, others trailing broken or snapped masts through the water, still others with half the ship's quota of oars washed away.

Over five hundred men, women, and children had lost their lives.

Peeta ordered that the few visible floating corpses be retrieved for a suitable cremation when they could reach dry land; the others, he supposed, would spend their eternity floating at the bottom of the straits. He asked Marvel to speak prayers for them, and to cast burning herbs across the waters to still their souls, and he hoped that they would find peace, and not linger to draw others to their deaths with watery, bitter siren songs.

Night had set in quickly once the storm abated. Neither Peeta nor any of the fore-lookers could see any possible landing — and even had one been close by, Peeta would not have wanted to risk the ships on unseen rocks during a night landing. So he determined they should set anchor as best they could close to the northern shoreline, and spend a cold wet night on the ships — there was not a dry robe nor blanket among the entire fleet, and Peeta dared not allow fires to be set within the hulls of the ships.

The three ships that had sustained the least damage, however, Peeta sent sailing north-northwest, following the coastline. They were to seek a suitable bay where the fleet could anchor, the people disembark and see to their wet clothes, blankets, and their injuries, and a forest where they could cut new masts for those ships that needed them. There was still an unknown time of sailing ahead of them, and Peeta wanted to be able to take advantage of the winds while he could.

He spent many hours consulting with his officers, and clambering from ship to ship to offer support and to assess damage, and did not return to his own ship until the dawn of the next morning. His robe was still damp, his cloak a sodden, useless mess, and by the time he sat down beside Katniss on the aft deck he was shivering uncontrollably.

She had awakened at his return — or perhaps had not slept at all — and shifted slightly to make room for him at her side. As he sat beside her, sighing gratefully as he rested his back against the side of the ship, she hesitated, then leaned in close against him, offering him her warmth.

He stiffened slightly, then relaxed. He was too tired and heartsore to push her away at the moment, and if he was truthful with himself, he did not truly want to. "Is my son safe?" Peeta said, laying a hand on her belly.

"Aye. He is the warmest of all of us, I think."

Peeta realized he was not the only one shivering, and again after a momentary hesitation, pulled Katniss as close to his body as he could. There were people to either side of them — Primrose on Katniss' right hugging Lavinia and her child, and an oarsman called Daedeline on Peeta's left — but even as tightly packed as they were, their damp clothes and the night wind made for a miserable existence.

"What were you doing," Peeta asked very softly, lest he disturb what slumber their neighbors could manage, "to risk yourself and our child like that? Rushing to save Atala?"

He felt Katniss shrug. "I did not think. I thought only to save her."

"For the sake of the gods, Katniss, she almost killed you!" Peeta truly did not know what to think about Katniss' actions in trying to save Atala. Had Katniss' concern been genuine… or was it instinct for her?

He wanted to be glad that she was that kind of person, but the dread in his gut that told him he almost lost her told him he should be upset that she should so put herself in that danger. And so heedlessly!

Katniss didn't notice his struggle, but managed her own. "Atala has…had two children. When she ran toward the back of the ship, that's all I could think of. I heard them crying out for their mother from where they sat close to the stem…" She shivered again and Peeta thought it the tremor of true emotion rather than an act. "I remembered the sounds of the children dying in Mesopotamia, their mothers beside them. I couldn't stand it." She shivered again. "I don't know. I acted without thinking. I should have considered the risk. I could have left Prim all along if I did die…" She was shivering more violently than ever now, and Peeta rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm, trying to warm her.

Katniss looked sideways at him and murmured the next part softly, "You… changed."

"Changed?"

"You're _you_ now, but earlier… when you finally pulled me back up you were _him_. Not you."

_No? _Peeta's eyebrows furrowed. He did not remember the change. And that sent fear through him. He only remembered feeling desperate, and helpless, and he needed strength to pull her back up. He had resorted not in his weak and unfully formed power as Hades' but he had turned to the bands. Hadn't he?

"He's… stronger," was all Peeta could manage to explain.

"How can he be stronger when you are all that Hades once was in this form?" she demanded.

"Because I will be all that Hades once was, once my god well is complete. Or until I establish a place of power. For now all I have is what little I can manage off his death. The power I get from the god of poison is already established in the bands, so all I have to do is turn to them for it."

"The side effects aren't worth it," Katniss decided, stubborn as ever.

Peeta leaned into her, smelling the saltwater on her skin. "And I won't do it again, I promise. But I had to… then… Atala had been so bent on pulling you over… You should have thought of the risks first."

"Aye, I risked your son as well my body – his cradle," she said, bitterness edging her voice.

Peeta let her remark go, remembering only that frightful moment when he'd seen Katniss stumbling after the incoherent Atala. In that moment he had not a thought for his child, but only for Katniss. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she spoke first. "What is Clove to you?"

Confused by the sudden change of subject, Peeta could only say, "Why?"

Katniss shrugged again, but he could see she was upset… angry, even. "Although that I cannot be certain, I think she is the one you have dreamed of ever since you returned from that island. I want to know more of her."

Peeta stiffened. What does she mean, speaking of his dreams? Had she lain awake each night watching him, marking each movement? _(Planning her next treachery? Black-eyed Peeta raved with paranoia. Or [and he would not admit even to himself that this was worse] had she lain awake dreaming of that damned Gale?)_ Peeta lifted his hand from Katniss' arm, and drew away from her.

"I don't dream of her, no." He frowned at Katniss. "I dream of the past, like I told you. Clove is my business partner, and is a part of my future. She will be there at New Troy waiting when we arrive."

Something hardened in Katniss' face, before she turned it down at her lap and asked, with little interest in her voice now, "Then who is she of the past? The one you reach out for if not _Clove_?" And when she said Clove's name there was a hatred in her voice that made Peeta uncertain.

"When I was boy, I had a betrothed. I never really loved her, but we were best friends once."

"And you miss her?" Katniss sounded bored.

"No, she's still around. She's a part of the pact. Delly is her name. The dreams are innocent."

Katniss looked up, raising an eyebrow. "You have friends in this pact?"

Peeta shrugged and ran a hand around her back, for warmth again, relaxing. "Only Delly. I was surprised to see her at the first meeting I was brought to. It stuck in my head like that, because I thought she'd died or ran off, a few years before… when I was about thirteen. She's not the same in some ways, but she reminds me every day what I lost in my father's kingdom. I dream of it often when I'm… _me_."

Eventually Katniss replied, saying, "I don't want you… to continue your business with Clove."

And it was all Peeta could do not to outright slap her, when the sudden urge to came over him. Black-eyed Peeta took control in that moment… because that is how it worked. Because the bands were all the kept him so tightly tethered to Clove, and loyal, _(and very far distant Clove seethed at what she heard the bitch wife say). _"Katniss," he warned, his voice dark. And not his own.

She flinched and drew away from him, seeing his eyes now. "Stop," she hissed. She gave sudden motion, determination in her eyes, and grabbed him by his wrists, forcing him to meet her stare.

"This isn't you," she said. "Don't you see? This is her doing. She's –"

Peeta caught her own wrist and twisted until her words cut off in a sharp gasp. "Enough. You will not speak of her that way. Clove is a powerful goddess, and it was her who stopped the storm so you should be grateful, not spiteful."

"And she makes you long for her, is that not so? God that you are, you look on others similarly marked with longing. No matter how treacherous or unstable. She obvious has you trapped, and she obviously wants you to herself –" Peeta could not tell how Katniss had come to this conclusion – "and I am tired of this weariness that is _you_. You are not worth protecting if you do not hear me when I tell you how best to do it. You want this Clove? Go freely to her, or in denial, I care not. But leave me out of it! What am I to you but a trophy of war, and a breeding vessel for your sons? Answer me, what else will I ever be to you? And why can't I just leave?"

"What in all the gods' names do you want to be?" he hissed back, voice still low as hers.

He'd had enough. All the frustration and anger of the past day (that he did not know he was harboring) suddenly threatened to bubble to the surface in a vicious, hurtful flood. She did not reply, save for a slight stiffening of her features as she turned her face partly away from him.

Then he heard the answer. Not from Katniss, but Primrose. "Free."

The bubble broke, and the viciousness poured forth from black-eyed Peeta's mouth.

"And what makes you think you'll survive in this world alone? There' no palace waiting out there with slave to ferry you about on their backs. Look at you! You're a pair of mewling foolish self-obsessed young girls, filled with resentment and arrogance, and both pregnant, might I add?" To Katniss he continued, "You're no use even as a trophy wife. By the gods! Who would want to display you about?"

She'd shrunk as far away from him as she could now, her face pale, her gray eyes wide. Primrose shrunk into Katniss' side as well, her big blue ones brimming with tears. All about them people had their faces carefully averted. Those wide tear-filled eyes were too much for Peeta. Damn them!

Damn her! _Why was it all she wanted was to be away from him? _He wouldn't admit that was what made him angriest. But somehow he knew with a terrible certainty that if Katniss was urging away from Clove, he couldn't trust her and she was fooling him… someway… _somehow_. He didn't know how he knew that. Only that some power urged him away from her, and he stood, spitting, "And if you do not bear me a healthy living son from that great belly, my dear, then I may have absolutely no use for you at all!" He fled, picking his way over the legs and bodies of the people in the belly of the ship until he reached Cato's side.

As Peeta sat down, Cato shot Katniss a look of sheer triumph.

* * *

As Peeta stalked off I sat back, closed my eyes against the contempt of all the Trojans about me, and succumbed to a fit of shivering that I could not control. I could not despise the real Peeta for what he had just said… or rather shouted. I suppose it was what I expected. I knew the instant I spoke out against Clove – that _bitch_ who tricked me back in the confines of Mesopotamia – that he would turn.

I should have had expected Clove to have a great hold on him, and she had proved that plainly, more by his actions than his words. I was not to be in his future, per her plans. I wondered for one horrible moment if Clove would be the one to kill me at my son's birth.

_Wait. _

_My_ son?

It's always Peeta's son, or Trojan child, or parasite… never mine.

I sucked in a breath and pushed it out loudly. Prim heard and hugged me tighter. She sobbed silently into my shoulder and whispered out of everyone's earshot, "I thought he was getting nicer…"

"He was," I replied, regretfully.

But Clove had claws very deep in him, and I finally realized what I was protecting him from.

I opened my eyes, daring to search out Peeta. He sat with Cato, and both men were laughing and chatting lightly with Glimmer. A nasty little knot of hatred throbbed in my chest. The woman smiled and laughed at Peeta, and tossed her golden hair, and pulled back her shoulders so that her breasts strained against her sea-dampened robes. Although Glimmer talked with Cato, her attention was all on Peeta. And why not? I was patently no threat to them, as Peeta just proved by saying what he had and moving away from, and Peeta was…well, as much as I hated to admit – even in his hateful form – Peeta was a highly desirable man. He had an aura of maturity and strength and command about him that was almost magnetic in its pull; apart of his Underworld allure?

I wasn't jealous, not of Glimmer, of course. The only Peeta I cared for was blue-eyed and gone at the moment, and more sickeningly, trapped by another woman by the name of Clove, not Glimmer.

The sun had finally crested the horizon, its light catching his body, and I saw the muscles in his chest and upper arms ripple as he stretched out in the welcome warmth of the sun. And what was that gibe I had once thrown at Peeta? That Gale was so much more athletic, so much more desirable than he?

Gods, and how I regretted that – not because I want to spare his feelings – but because he would never drop it, ever, and I wondered if the jealous in him was _his_ or a part of the bands. I missed Gale so suddenly, sitting there, that my chest ached. He hadn't deserved to die in the manner that he had, but his death in no way made him the virile, athletic lover with which I'd taunted Peeta. He'd been but a friend, and I'd always turned down his marriage offers, and now I felt the biggest fool in the world.

I shifted uncomfortably, the baby heavy and burdensome within me. Glimmer was still laughing, her attention solely on Peeta now. He reached out, and touched her on the cheek, then ran his hand back through her hair as he leaned forward and whispered something in her ear that made her eyes widen and the breath catch in her throat. Cato laughed uproariously, and patted Peeta's back.

I closed my eyes, trying to forget that Glimmer was the woman who had predicted my death. The death my Peeta promised to prevent… did that still stand? It was too painful to think about. I tried to turn my mind to other things…to concentrate on the dream of the stone hall and who waited within. But it didn't work. Even the peace and happiness of the stone hall could not distract me from the idea that soon I would be dead. Black-eyed Peeta, under the influence of Clove, Cato, Glimmer, and Marvel will get the son he wanted and toss Primrose into the nearest crest of waves, and he will laugh as I die.

"You almost died today," Prim said beside me and I nodded. "He saved you."

"I know." And that did help, as if Prim knew exactly what to say. I felt lighter at that. _He did save me. _But for his son or for me? And more importantly… I wondered… worried… sure, blue-eyed Peeta could have wished to save me and he tried to… but in the end he wasn't enough, and black-eyed Peeta was strong enough… but was he strong enough because he wished to save me or his son?

Was I not enough to motivate either to be strong enough?

Would blue-eyed Peeta be enough on the day of our son's birth?

My eyes opened again and for an instant I could see neither Peeta nor Glimmer. Then, my heart thudding in my chest, I spotted Glimmer stepping slowly over legs and bodies toward the back of the ship while Peeta and Cato had turned to lean over the deck railing and look out to the ocean. I sighed, and my heartbeat slowly returned to normal as I confronted the startling knowledge that I was not so much concerned at losing my life when this child was born, but at failing Seeder, and the real Peeta.

Because once I'm dead, who will be there to stop Clove?

* * *

For two days they drifted at anchor, spreading clothes to dry in the sun, doing what repairs they could, casting fearful eyes back to where the Pillars of Hercules lay some five thousand paces behind them lest another storm blew out of nowhere.

Peeta spent most of his time leaping between the close-anchored ships, speaking encouragement and warm words, keeping a smile on his face and the worry from his eyes. He'd hoped that the three ships he'd sent up the coast would have returned by now with news of some shallow, mild bay with natural springs and game and tall straight trees for their succor. But for two long days there was nothing but the silence of the fore-lookers.

He kept as far away from Katniss as possible. He had little idea what she did, but vaguely hoped that she kept herself busy as all women did during times of such enforced inactivity. Peeta doubted she would get much sympathy from the other Trojan women. They'd spent the best part of their lives slaving and sacrificing for her and her sister's father's comfort, and for what? To have Katniss plot to have them slaughtered the moment they reached for their freedom. If she sat uncomfortable amid their abhorrence, then Peeta had no sympathy for her. It was a far lighter punishment than what she'd wanted for them.

During those times he didn't fret over the condition of his people and ships, Peeta worried over Katniss.

Despite himself… or rather, his _other_ self.

He hated the words he'd thrown at her, when he'd returned to his real self, but they were already said. He was worried that the moment he spoke to her again he would change and do something worse, so he stayed well away from her in fear of that. Maybe it was for the best to let go now. Katniss had the right of it, Clove would have him in the end, her king of gods, and it was unfair to lead Katniss on.

Even if it was Katniss he wanted rather than Clove.

His other half demanded how he could trust her in the event he did give in, and if she spoke on more bad word against Clove, black-eyed Peeta would definitely let her death come, certain and final.

(And an even smaller, more certain voice in him asked him if he turned on Clove for Katniss, how would he survive such an act? Clove was more powerful, had more allies, and would kill them both!)

For the past two days he remained blue-eyed and sorrowful, and himself, but still stayed away.

* * *

At noon on the third day one of the fore-lookers finally raised the alert; ships approached. Peeta, back on his own ship, rushed to stand with the fore-looker. "Where?" he said, placing his hand on the man's shoulder.

"There." The fore-looker pointed, and Peeta squinted his eyes against the sun (and thank the gods it was sunny; Peeta did not think he wanted to see any more heavy seas or rain for the rest of his life). The sunlight glinting off the water made it difficult to focus well, but Peeta gradually made out the sails of three — no four! — ships sailing toward them from the north.

"Four?" he said, and shifted restlessly from foot to foot as the ships slowly came closer.

"They must be dragging their anchors behind them," Peeta grumbled as Cato joined him.

Cato did not reply, but concentrated on his own squinting inspection of the four ships.

Glimmer appeared out of nowhere, bright eyed. "Three are ours," she said.

"Yes, yes," Peeta said, annoyed that she should so waste time stating the obvious.

Glimmer's mouth twitched. "And the fourth is 'ours' as well," she said.

She grinned at the two men as they turned to stare at her.

"What? What do you mean?" Peeta turned back to study the ships. They were clearer now, their full-bellied sails filled with wind, and Peeta screwed up his eyes, trying to make out the device on the sail of the fourth ship. Cato grunted, because he could not tell the difference.

Gods, but Glimmer must have good vision. "I can't see," he said.

"Wait," Glimmer said, her smile broadening.

And then Peeta suddenly yelled in excitement. "It has a Trojan device! But how, Glimmer…how?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? Trojans scattered in all directions when Troy fell. Your father's kingdom was just the largest gathering of them as far as we know. Is it so impossible that a few ships made it this far west?"

Peeta did not answer. He had shoved the fore-looker completely to one side, and had stepped right upon the stem post, wrapping one arm about it and shading his eyes with his other hand, staring ahead.

The ship was a beauty, a warrior vessel, slung low in the water and with oarsmen so magnificently skilled and smooth he could hardly make out the dip and lift of their oars in the water. The hull was daubed in the usual black pitch, but the stem of the ship had been carved into the head of a mystic serpent, and painted in blues, greens, silvers, and golds. The great linen sail had been dyed in similar colors, and in its center strained the familiar device of Troy. "They are brothers," Cato said, marveling.

"They are brothers!" Peeta began to wave with great sweeping arcs of his arm, then, when the ships had approached close enough that their oarsmen had begun the dip-and-hold maneuver to slow them down, cast himself into the sea, swimming toward the great warrior ship of Troy.

* * *

He reached its hull, and placed one hand on its pitch-black surface as he trod water, shaking the sea from his hair and eyes. "I have never seen a fairer mermaid," said a laughing voice, and Peeta blinked, and looked up.

A man of bronze hair and fair complexion stared down at him, his open, friendly face wreathed in a huge smile. What stood out most, however, were his eyes; a stunning (_familiar_) sea-green. The man was robed in a splendid sleeveless scarlet tunic, a scabbarded sword was belted at his hips, and gold and silver armbands ran up his arms to his muscular biceps. He was handsome, no doubt, and older than people, but young, still. "But, wait!" The man affected surprise, and stood back. "This is no mermaid! To be sure, it is a man! What do you here, man, and under what name do you pass?"

"I am come to greet you," Peeta called back, grinning. "And if you would be good enough to throw me a length of rope that I might climb to join you, to embrace you in friendship and brotherhood. I am Peeta, son of Silvius, son of Ascanius, son of Aeneas who was hero of Troy, and son of Aphrodite."

"Good enough," said the man, as if the progeny of gods was the least he had expected, and personally tossed Peeta a length of rope, holding it steady as Peeta climbed hand over hand up the hull of the ship.

As Peeta swung his leg over the ship's deck railing, the man caught sight of Peeta in true and gasped.

"You are Peeta indeed! And here I thought your men lie!"

"Aye," Peeta said.

"Then you are doubly welcome to my ship, Peeta, blood of heroes and goddesses," said the man, clasping Peeta first by the forearms, and then drawing him into a close embrace. "My name is Finnick, of the line of Locrinus of Troy, and I head the four clans who have descended from him."

"How came you here?" said Peeta, standing back and studying the man closely.

"Why," said Finnick, his expression lightening away from his shock and back to humor, "by ship of course!"

"I meant —"

"I know what you meant," said Finnick, his grin fading. "My great-grandfather escaped from Troy with your great-grandfather, Aeneas. They sailed together for many years, but when Aeneas decided to settle on the River Tiber, my great-grandfather decided he still had some wanderlust left in him."

"Ah, yes, I remember. Five ships of men and women continued on after Aeneas settled. And you are of those ships?"

"Aye! They established themselves on this coast, some distance north, where they built a great city and divided themselves into four clans descended from Locrinus' four sons. Come now, take this towel and dry yourself." Finnick humor had faded completely now, and he stared past Peeta, now busily drying himself, to the fleet that lay before him. "By the gods, Peeta, something has bitten you well! And so many ships… how many, for the gods' sakes?"

"Seven thousand people, give or take a few hundred," said Peeta, "and ninety-five somewhat battered ships… we were one hundred grand sailing vessels until we became the victims of a supernatural-driven storm."

Finnick muttered to himself, "Supernatural storms and unnatural earth tremors. What in Zeus' name was happening to their world?"

"Huh?" Peeta said, but Finnick waved him off.

"The important thing is that you survived."

He looked back at Peeta, and Peeta saw the sharpness in his eyes, and knew that the man wore his natural humor as a mask to charm words from men who would otherwise be more careful. Peeta suddenly felt a respect for Finnick; he would never be a man to be trifled with. "We survived," he said, "due to the intervention of… Artemis." It is better to leave it with that name, as he gave the same name to his people to rely on – they would be more inclined to trust a goddess they knew and loved, than Clove. "We were favored, indeed."

Finnick raised his eyebrows. "Artemis?"

"It is a long tale," Peeta said. "Should I discuss this now, or wait, perhaps, till you have guided my people to a safe harbor? We have injuries aboard, and much of our dry stores are ruined. My people are exhausted and hungry and damp."

"We attend to your people's needs first," said Finnick. "My home is not far away — a day's sail, if you can bear it or a day and a half's row in your ships if they are too injured to raise their sails. Perhaps, if we row, we can talk tonight, over a meal?" He stopped rather abruptly, and took a step forward peering at the ship Peeta had so precipitously leapt from. "Who is that fair lady?"

Peeta followed his eyes. Katniss was now standing with Cato by the stem of his ship, shading her eyes as she stared at Finnick's vessel. "She? She is my wife."

"Your wife? Then leave her not there, anxious and curious," Finnick exclaimed. "I invite her aboard, to keep you from worrying on her behalf, and you both shall tell me your tales as we sail to my home."

* * *

I was stunned into breathlessness. I had not seen a ship so pround and so beautiful since one of the Egyptian pharaoh's vessels had docked in the bay before Mesopotamia several years ago. Then I had been a girl, and more concerned with Prim's wellbeing to truly appreciated its beauty and power. Now I was a different person entirely, and I could see that this ship was the vessel of a proud and noble man.

I could see Peeta – dripping wet – talking with a richly dressed man on board, and I overcame my revulsion of Cato enough to stand with him in the stem of our ship so I could see the better. "It is a Trojan ship," said Glimmer, no doubt hoping to impress me. She was far too late. I was already hopelessly impressed. The ships Peeta had under command were nothing like that one.

As the beautiful vessel drew very close I saw that the man who talked with Peeta had turned to look at me. He smiled, wide and genuine, and it stunned me. Should it have? I suppose I had vaguely expected contempt, seeing as that is all I got from the Trojan people. Being both Primrose's sister and Peeta's hated treacherous wife, I had not expected such open delight and even – no, that could not be possible, not in my state – frank and open admiration.

The strange warship and the vessel in which I stood were now no more than two or three arm's lengths distance and men from both ships hastened to position buffers of close-packed straw so that neither ship should stave in the other. But before all the buffers were in place, the handsome man at Peeta's side leapt gracefully between the rapidly narrowing gap, landing not two paces distant from me.

"My princess Katniss," he said, stepping closer to me. "I am pleased beyond measure that you have survived such a dreadful ordeal. Will you join me on my ship, where you may rest on silken pillows, and eat from the sweetest figs I could gather?"

I could do nothing but stare. There was not a shadow of contempt in his eyes, not a spark of hatred, not even a single measure of speculation. There was merely good-natured acceptance and curiosity and, I still couldn't believe it, an unabashed admiration. I frowned despite myself; sure he was handsome, bronze haired and physically flawless that he was, but something about him…

"I'm no princess," I said, finally. _Primrose is the princess, born and raised and groomed as so._

"Why, has Peeta lied to me?" he asked. "Are you not his wife? And therefore Troy's princess?"

The title hit me like a blow. I wanted to laugh – but that was Cato who laughed, and my want died on my tongue at the sound. Glimmer brushed passed me, and I took a stumbled half step toward Finnick. I became horribly conscious of my sodden, shapeless, crinkled robe, my great belly, my hair all in oily tendrils, and my bare feet. I was wearing no jewelry, no perfumes, not a single accruement of nobility – not like this man probably expected of Troy's princess, Peeta's wife. And yet here he was, standing there with the friendly smile all about his mouth and eyes, treating me with friendliness and respect.

The man leaned in, and whispered, "This would be exceedingly awkward if this is his way of indirectly asking for your hand in marriage, and hardly the time! But do be a dear, if so; don't make me say a no!"

Without thinking, I grinned. Under the circumstances, with both Cato at my side and Peeta on the deck of the stranger's ship watching me, it wasn't the most advisable thing to do, but I grinned anyway.

"What is your name?" I asked, studying him with as much frank admiration as he gave me. He was a young man, older only by Peeta a year or two, and even though he wore a sword at his hip he carried about him the air of the ambassador just as much as a warrior.

His robes and jewelry were rich and finely made… but none of this mattered much to me.

All that mattered was the acceptance I saw in his eyes.

He reached out his hands, and took one of mine between them.

"I am Finnick, of Locrinia," he said, "and you are most welcome to me."

Then he leaned forward and planted a polite, but very warm and very soft kiss on my mouth.

When he leaned back, all I could see was Peeta glowering at me.

I pulled my hand from Finnick's as gently as I could, and as well-bred as Finnick very obviously was, he understood the message immediately. He turned to Cato, exchanged greetings, and then asked after the injured. "Peeta tells me you have wounded among your fleet, and your people are hungry and sore."

"Aye," said Cato, and then the two men proceeded to discuss how best to distribute the three physicians Finnick had brought with him, as their herbs and unguents to replace those we'd lost during the storm.

I just stood there, relieved somehow to have someone here who did not hate me on principal.

I even smiled at Peeta, still staring down to where Finnick, Cato, and I stood.

Eventually Finnick and Cato had arranged matters to their satisfaction, and Finnick turned to me again.

"Will you join your husband aboard my vessel, princess?" he said.

I shifted my eyes doubtfully toward his ship – although the gap between his vessel and this was not overly large, the two vessels ground against each other, and anyone who fell between them would surely be crushed to death. "Ah!" he said, perceiving my doubts. "Allow me…"

And in the next moment I found myself swung into his arms as he turned to the gap.

I gasped, all my relief lost in concern, and my hands tightened about Finnick's neck.

"Do not be afraid," he said softly. "I will not drop you."

With that, he began to climb into his slightly higher vessel, one arm about me, one hand on the rope, his feet braced against the outer planking of his ship: he was much stronger than I had thought him and my fear subsided somewhat. He even made me laugh, for he thought to amuse me by singing under his breath a silly seafaring ditty about the dangers of ravenous marine worms to beautiful princesses.

We were both laughing by the time he'd hauled me to the deck railing of the ship, and there Peeta was to take me from Finnick. I breathed a sigh of relief as I felt my two feet on firm decking again, and straightened out my robe as best I might, still smiling at Finnick.

I was about to thank him when Peeta spoke.

"You are a strong man, Finnick, to carry such a load!" he said, and – oh, the insult! – patted me on my belly.

I flushed with equal parts anger and embarrassment, then caught a glint of empathy in Finnick's eyes, and managed to regain my composure.

"Do you have a maidservant, Katniss," Finnick asked, "that I can have brought aboard to help you with your ablutions?"

I shook my head, pushing away Peeta's hand on me. "No. I don't have servants. Only a companion, Lavinia, but leave her to her own husband and her child. Just send for my sister, Primrose, if that is not too much to ask…"

"One Primrose it is," said Finnick. "Please," he continued, "I have a well-appointed cabin on the aft deck, if I may escort you?" He offered me his arm, and I took it without reserve.

I didn't look back to see how Peeta felt about this.

* * *

I sighed, deeply content. It was a truly well-furnished cabin. Tapestries and linens hung from the walls, hiding from view the wooden planking. Luxurious furs covered the floor, allowing the eye only a peek of the mosaics beneath. And it had a bath. A real bath in one corner that was large enough to hold two.

I sank my swollen body into gratefully – only the gods knew how Finnick had caused the water to be heated, but I cared not to think on such trivialities. Prim sat across from me, her leg occasionally brushing mine, and she scrubbed the dirt from her skin. I luxuriated in the comfort instead of working so hard to erase the lines of the last few months.

I closed my eyes, and leaned my head back against the rim of the bath.

I heard a step.

My eyes flew open. Peeta stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Prim smiled at him, unthinking. "Hello Peeta," she greeted, sliding in the water further to hide her nakedness, though if truth be told, Peeta did not even glance her way. His eyes were trained on me.

Black.

"Do not worry," he said, and crossed the room to stand beside the bath, "I have no thought to join you." That he spoke to me. "I need to show Finnick's physicians where they are the most needed."

Then, in part lie to his words, he sank down to sit on the side of the bath. He reached out a hand, and ran it over my belly, then raised his eyes and looked at me. "What was that I saw?" he said.

"What?" I said, confused.

"Did you think to make me jealous?"

I sat up in the bath as far as I was able. "I do not know what you mean."

His hand was still heavy on my belly, rubbing back and forth, back and forth.

"Your little display with Finnick. It shamed me."

I clenched my jaw, and narrowed my eyes. "You think to admonish me? He was courteous to me, and I was no more than courteous in turn. What do you accuse me of? And do you really think now is the time?"

He did not answer, but continued to stare at me with hard eyes, his hand now very heavy on my belly.

"He kissed you."

"I did not ask for it!"

"Did you beg him?"

"It was a greeting only!"

"Beware, Katniss. Do not think to use Finnick as a weapon as you have tried to use Gale."

With that he gave my belly a hard, painful slap, rose, and I stood so fast I shocked myself. Bath water splashed over the edge of the bath, onto his legs, and into Prim's face, but I stepped out and caught Peeta's arm to rip him back partially my way. I snarled, "And so what if I do? What matter is it of yours! Have you forgotten you latest words to me? I'm nothing to you, you made that very clear!"

Peeta jerked from my touch and screwed his eyes shut. "You're _my_ wife."

"Ha!" The laugh was bitter. "You are so insufferable! You don't want me, but no one can have me?"

"Finnick does not want –"

"This isn't about Finnick!" I shouted over him. "This is about my freedom!" Peeta drew back at my volume and frowned, drawing his eyebrows over his now open and very black eyes. "_Ours_," I corrected myself. I stepped back, sitting on the edge of the bath, and placed a hand on Prim's thin shoulder.

He stared at me for a long time.

He stared and stared until I started to grow cold and shiver, naked in the open air.

Then, finally, Peeta said, "Fine. I free you. We are no longer married. Depart at Finnick's city if you wish it so, and take my son with you, and your sister, and never come back if that's what you want."

And with that he turned and left.

I stared after him, stunned, hardly daring to believe.

"Truly?" Prim whispered behind me. Her warm, wet hand slid over mine. "Truly we are free?"

I turned to her, looking down at her, and her sweet pale face was tipped up to mine shining with hope.

I felt something shake out of my throat – my breath: half a sob of joy, and half of disbelief.

I nodded, and sank into the bath and folded my sister in my arms, and nodded some more.

"Yes," I said. "Truly, very truly. We're free."

_But I have lost the gift a goddess has given me, and I do not know how to feel about that._

* * *

Much later that evening a dinner was set up on the spacious aft deck of Finnick's warship. Peeta had returned, and with him he had brought his immediate command: Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, and various other captains of high and admiral rankings.

Peeta ignored all inquiry anyone made after Katniss and said she would not be joining them.

The food Finnick caused to have spread before them was mouthwatering: fine maza and turon made of the best flour, honey, and cheese; sweet fresh figs; almonds and plump olives; sweet roasted game, both partridge and venison; salads sprinkled with mint and oregano; honeyed cakes and fresh apples and pears. And much time was spent as Peeta's commanders told Finnick the story of Mesopotamia.

When they were finished Finnick nodded, and said, "So that's what she meant."

"Who meant?" Peeta asked.

"Katniss, when I addressed her as a princess she declined the title. She must have been thinking of her sister. Strange that you would take Katniss and not the king's real daughter. Why was that?"

Glimmer scowled at the conversation, and Cato feigned disinterest. "I did not come to talk about Katniss," Peeta said, and Marvel jumped in to agree, and brought up the matter of New Troy. "Well said," Peeta remarked. "New Troy does await us, and all our mistakes and follies lie well behind us."

"You actually intend to rebuild Troy in this land of Panem?" Finnick said.

"Aye," said Peeta. "I do."

Finnick smiled warm and friendly. "Then I am very much your man!"

"You want to join with me?"

"Oh, aye, I do!"

Peeta was not sure how to regard this. Earlier he would have greeted it with enthusiasm. Now…

"But surely," said Peeta, "you are established and happy and free already, and from what you have said of your city I cannot think that any would want to leave it —"

"Ah, Peeta," Finnick said, "I have not told you all. Some weeks ago a great earth tremor struck Locrinia during the night. Some buildings collapsed, and some people died, but the true horror was not realized until the next morning. Every building within the city, every single one, has been cracked so badly that none will stand for much longer. Within weeks, a month or so at the most, Locrinia will crumble into the bay, and it will be as if the city never existed."

"You cannot rebuild?" Cato said.

"Rebuild?" said Finnick. "No. The city is too badly damaged. Besides, who could want to rebuild when Peeta offers me Troy?" He turned his attention back to Peeta. "Pray, do not allow your doubts for me make you refuse me," he said. "I can be of great aid to you. Not only can I contribute ships, wealth, supplies, and yet more Trojans to make your New Troy great, I have knowledge. Peeta, I know this land of which you speak."

"Tell me," Peeta said, now leaning forward himself.

"Joanna is from there! A native! She may well be able to tell you all you need to know."

"And Joanna…?" Peeta said.

"Joanna is my close companion, a sister to me," Finnick said, and his voice was composed of such pride and compassion and (slightly) defensiveness, that all of Peeta's doubts dropped away.

"Joanna is a native," Finnick continued. "She left when she was but fourteen, married to a merchant who died within six months, leaving her stranded in Locrinia." Finnick gave an unashamed half shrug, and a grin. "What could I do but invite her in? Someone had to save her from destitution."

"And why am I thinking," said Marvel with a grin, his humor now fully restored, "that this poor widowed woman was probably the most desirable creature you had ever set eyes on?"

Finnick laughed. "Feisty, yes. Beautiful? All a matter of opinion. My one true love in the sea.

"But to the matter at hand," he continued. "While you rest in Locrinia, repairing your ships and healing your people, Joanna can teach you the ways of Panem." An ironic twist made his smile. "The gods drove you to me! If the storm had not stopped you, and ripped masts from their beds in their keels, then you would have sailed past Locrinia in the dead of the night, not knowing what aid awaited you within."

Peeta felt suspicions rise in him at Finnick's words. _Had this been planned?_

_And this is too convenient for this Joanna not to be Chaff's daughter._

Peeta liked Finnick, truly, and the thought that he had to betray him with murder made him sigh.

"Well, what say you?" Peeta said finally, turning to his companions and friends. "Should we welcome this Finnick into our midst, and take what aid and fellow Trojans he offers us?"

"Oh, we accept him," Glimmer said for the whole. "We welcome him gladly."

* * *

Later that night Peeta found himself entering Katniss' cabin, and he sat carefully on the edge of her bed, avoiding Prim's curled up form. "Katniss?" He waited for an answer, but there was only silence.

Katniss lay with her back to him, only the rapidity of her breathing betraying her wakefulness.

Peeta sighed, leaned against the side wall and, with his free hand, toyed with a strand of her long black hair. It had become much softer with pregnancy, as slippery and fluid as honey, and with a seductive, natural scent. "Why do we hate each other so much? Why? I try not to hate you, but all my other self wants to do is hate you for every little thing you do and say. I don't know how to stop it…"

She gently pushed his hand away, and sat up, careful not to disturb her sister. "I do not –"

"Don't dare to say to me that you do not hate me," he said harshly, "for I would not believe that!"

Her mouth trembled, but she said nothing, realizing that it was not blue eyed Peeta returned.

It was still the black-eyed one, who had been so harsh earlier, but had freed her.

She was waiting for this moment. "Have you changed your mind?" she whispered.

His eyes moved from her face to her body, and his hand he lifted and rested gently on her belly.

"No," he said. "No I haven't. But I came to warn you that Finnick's city is no more and his people leave with mine to see New Troy. You're still free, and no longer my 'wife' – if that title ever meant anything to begin with – but you can't leave the fleet. You'll only parish and I can't send you off to die alone and undefended. You'll continue on with me for as long as until we reach Panem."

"Is it possible for me to remain at your side, as a friend, Peeta?" Katniss said, her eyes wide and glued on his. They were sincere as near as Peeta could tell and something warm blossomed in his chest at the sound of her words. "By freedom I don't mean exile from you." She sat up and grabbed his hand, as she's done many time before and curled her fingers in his. "I just meant from being your thrall, from being a wife, and from being a princess of Troy… I was not meant to be all that, and I know Clove awaits to fill all those roles." He opened his mouth to say something on that, but Katniss shushed him.

"Peeta, I will gladly stay in the fleet, and I _want_ to be your friend. At least… the real you. That's why, actually, because I'm not sure your other friends recognize the difference. And someone has to save you from… the other you…" Katniss spoke cautiously at his part, stepping around glass, watching his face closely and was glad to note the black fading. "Seeder gave you to me, remember?"

"And Seeder gave you to me," he said back, a faint smile touching his face. "To protect each other."

The blue was all she saw then, crystalline and beautiful and she sighed in relief. "I missed this you."

"I wish I was here more often, this way, and couldn't be gone long enough to miss."

* * *

Because many of the fleet's ships were so badly damaged, and the oarsmen needed longer breaks than they usually would after their ordeal during the storm, it took an extra half day longer than expected to reach Locrinia.

When they eventually approached at dusk of the fourth day after the storm, Peeta realized why Finnick had thought they'd sail straight past if it had been night – as it probably would have been if they'd sailed untouched through the Pillars of Hercules. The city was visible from the ocean, but only barely. It was tucked into the southern shore of a bay whose only opening was a narrow, rocky strait. If a fleet had sailed north along the coast late at night when the citizens of Locrinia were asleep and all lights doused, then those aboard the fleet would never have known what they passed.

Clove was right and for reasons beyond Peeta's knowledge (as she promised) all was going according to her plan. Katniss was set aside, as she wanted from the beginning. No matter how much that upset Peeta and still the upset did not dim the surprise and pleasure he got from her wanting to be his friend, freely. It was a chance at an untainted companionship between them. And as the hours passed the closer he got to this Joanna, daughter of Chaff, and the eventual victim to him – and it made him nervous.

Clove never outright told him to murder her. Was it too much to hope Clove would do it?

But then again, Clove had said she would kill Hades and it was Peeta who did it in the end.

* * *

Locrinia was a medium-sized city of low buildings constructed in pale shades of sand and limestone and tiled in bright red and turquoise. It stretched from the southern shore of the bay halfway up the slopes of a massive mountain. At the edge of the city, neat fields ran up the mountain to the border of a close, dark forest that covered the greater part of the peak.

The city should have looked prosperous and comfortable, but here and there Peeta could see the mounds of rubble left by the earth tremor, and in many other buildings, a horrible list as if they were shortly to join their crumbled fellows.

No wonder Finnick was so joyful to have Peeta appear. This city was surely doomed.

Finnick told Peeta that because of the state of the city most of the Trojans would have to make do as best they could on their anchored ships. With luck, however, he could find accommodation for enough of them that the crowding aboard the ships would be lessened considerably. Finnick apologized, clearly embarrassed at his inability to house all the Trojans in accommodation ashore, but Peeta waved away his apologies; Finnick was already doing more than enough.

His embarrassment only mildly allayed, Finnick directed his warship in close to the stone wharf. As soon as it had docked he jumped down to the wharf, sending messages into the city to set people to finding accommodation as best they could for several hundred people at least, and directions to set sailors in small rowboats into the bay to direct the Trojan ships into suitable anchorage sites.

Then, as the gangplank was set into position, Finnick boarded once again and escorted both Katniss and Peeta down to the wharf. Katniss looked uncomfortable, and her eyes were ringed with blue shadows as if she had not slept well, but she was composed and polite, thanking Finnick for his assistance in aiding her to the wharf, and then after, for aiding Primrose.

For a while Finnick stood with Peeta and Cato watching the other Trojans disembark, then, catching sight of Katniss' wan face, said, "Is something amiss, princess? Are you feeling ill?"

The questioned was directed at Katniss, but it was Prim who answered. "The baby, it pains her."

Anxiety livened in Peeta and he looked distressed. He had not gone to see her since three nights ago, when she'd asked to be friend and he'd readily agreed. "Is there reason for concern?" he asked.

Katniss waved a vague hand, dismissing Prim's claim and Peeta's worry. "It is merely the usual discomforts that come with pregnancy that has kept me awake this past night… nothing more."

Finnick frowned, not entirely soothed. He turned to Peeta, "Do you think you can leave Cato and Marvel to direct the unloading of as many people as we can accommodate? I think it would be best if I took you, Katniss, Primrose and Lavinia and her child and husband to my house, that the women may rest. It is but a short walk distant, and safe enough that you may all sleep well at night."

"If Joanna won't fuss at the extra visitors," Peeta said.

"She will… she'll grow accustomed," said Finnick, smiling in a way that gave way to an inside joke. He bowed slightly in Katniss' direction. "And she will be delighted to have you to gossip with, Katniss. I swear that before tomorrow morning has dawned, you will know all the lapses and blunders of Locrinia's most upstanding citizens. Even, I fear, some of mine!"

He was rewarded with a smile from Katniss, but it was thin and tight. And probably more at his attempt to cheer her than any eager anticipation of Joanna's gossip, but it was enough for Finnick. "Come," he said gently, and led the small group forward.

As they walked Finnick took Prim's arm – she glowed there, at his side, blonde and beautiful, and it gladdened Katniss to hear her laugh as the great man spoke to her and led her forward. It left her to fall behind and Peeta stepped up to her side, keeping pace. "So…" he started.

Katniss gave him a flickering look.

"I didn't hear you correct him when he called you princess."

"I couldn't think of a way to explain to him that I am no longer your wife as of the day we came upon his ship. Mayhap he'll blame himself the cause. And actually, I never truly told him we were married."

"Well I did," Peeta said, shrugging. "But you may continue under the pretense. It bothers me none."

This time Katniss' smile was genuine. "That's because if you had it your way I would still be your wife." Her hand fell to her swollen abdomen. "At any rate it will be awkward and hard to explain the split, so the pretense will be fine… as long as you don't take advantage of it. Once we reach Panem you can officially denounce me and I will happily become a normal citizen of New Troy."

There was a pause, wherein Katniss' smile died and so did Peeta's. "If I make it there," she added.

"You will," Peeta swore, taking her hand that hung at her side and interweaving their fingers.

"As you say." She sounded more tired than before, and the paleness of her face disturbed him.

"I promised you, remember? I kept that promise once, when Atala tried to pull you from the ship in her madness and I will continue to keep both promises. You won't die, and so long as I live, and you are willing, you have a place at my side as a friend, advisor, ambassador… or wife. Where ever you want."

"Sometimes you are so sweet… sometimes it feels like you'll move heaven and earth to protect me, to get me anything that I need, and it would only take one word from me to make you do it… but then sometimes it's as if I mean less to you than dirt and one misstep means it's you who is my murderer."

"I know. I know what I do, and I'm trying. I just need your help to stay the real me."

"I can only help if you want help, Peeta," Katniss said. "If you want to stay the real you, all the time."

"I do!" he whispered. "How can you doubt it?"

"You have to want to and need to be the real you all the time, no matter the situation, no matter if the real you isn't as strong had the other you. You have to stop relying on him. You can't switch, or you'll get too familiar with the act… and you'll stop knowing the difference. You have to stop having a need for him, and maybe he'll go away… or maybe he won't. Maybe he'll be there forever, tormenting you, and Clove is urging his use, but don't give in. It's a constant fight and you need to want to fight to win."

Peeta clung to her fingers for a moment, wordless. "Has anyone told you you'd make a great queen?"

Katniss snorted, inelegantly. "No."

"Someday others will begin to notice it," he said, and continued to say, "I understand what you're saying and… I'll watch out for those things. I don't want him to be here any longer. Ever. Not even for Clove… because she can deal with me as _me_, and I can still do what she needs… as me."

_Even if it will be harder, and not dull the emotions that result, _he thought to himself.

"Good," Katniss said, then dropped him hand and joined her sister at Finnick's side.

* * *

One of Locrinia's wardens, a plump, cheerful man, bustled toward them, greeting Peeta effusively, and clapping his hands with joy at the sight of the massive fleet filling the bay. Finnick and Peeta passed a few words with him, then they were off, following Finnick through the gently rising streets of the city.

"I have my house on this rise here," Finnick said, leading them into a wide and well-paved street. One or two of the houses had fallen, and in the others Peeta and his companions could clearly see the wide cracks spreading up the walls. "I love the view of the bay it gives me."

"And… here we are!" Finnick said, indicating a large house standing just before them. Made of a very pale pink stone, it had been built long and low with numerous large open windows and graceful arches to allow the bay air to flow through its rooms and chambers.

It too had been cracked, and one archway had collapsed almost completely, but the walls were well propped, and the house looked solid enough, especially compared to some of its neighbors.

As they approached, a woman appeared in one of the archways. She stood there, as still as a rock pool, one hand on a pillar, her white linen robe blowing gracefully about her short, slim form. Her hair was dark, and cropped as short as a warrior's – an odd style, many of the Trojan's thought – but her skin was extremely pale and her features well drawn and strong.

Joanna walked to meet them, strutting. She had about her an air of obtrusiveness that stuck in odd, faintly disturbing angles and when she greeted Finnick it was quick and to the point. Peeta saw none of the compassion Finnick had regarded the woman with. "Who are these strangers?" she asked.

She did not hide her suspicion, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing Peeta.

"Joanna," Finnick said, and he took her arm and made her unfold them. She looked to him, grudging and he smiled. "If I said to you that you might be going home to Panem again, what would you say?"

Joanna's face went completely expressionless, but in that instant before the veil came down, Peeta swore he saw a peculiar mix of terror and resignation in her eyes. Then she forced a smile.

"I would ask you where you got this new silly idea from."

* * *

They had washed, settled in their chambers, and eaten (Cato, Glimmer, and Marvel having joined them as well as his other captains there was room for), and now it was late at night, but Peeta could not go to bed before he'd had a chance to speak with Joanna, both about Panem, and to get to know her before he prematurely decided she was the daughter to Chaff that Clove had indicated as their key to Panem.

He sat with her, Finnick, Glimmer, Marvel, and Cato on a sheltered portico overlooking the bay. Everyone else had gone to bed for the night – indeed, the city itself seemed lost in a languorous slumber as it spread out below them – and they finally had some quiet to talk. The warm air was very still, and the scent of a flowered climbing vine across the portico hung heavy and sweet about them.

"So," said Joanna to Peeta, "you wish to build your New Troy in Panem?"

"I do so at the permission of Artemis." He decided not to name Clove to Chaff's daughter, just in case.

"Not on the goddess of Panem's wish," said Joanna, stubborn on that point. "Artemis has no place there."

Peeta shrugged and said, "Tell me of Panem."

"What can I say, where can I start?"

Joanna looked frustrated, and took a deep breath, and lifted her eyes to stare over the bay.

Peeta did not like it that she wouldn't look at him. "Will they welcome us?"

Now she did look at him, steady and sure. "I cannot know," she said. "It has been over a decade since I was last in Panem." She paused, gnashing her teeth. "But they most certainly will not welcome me."

Before Peeta could ask the obvious question, Finnick, wary-eyed, broke in. "Peeta," he said, "may I speak a little of Locrinia's relationship with Panem?" At Peeta's nod he went on. "Panem is not a closed country; many people trade with the people there. I and my people do, the states to the north of us do, the people of Crete even traded precious spices and gold for their tin and copper. But…"

"But?"

"But Panem does not encourage closeness with any outsiders."

"Yet you married an outsider, a merchant, before you came here," Peeta said to Joanna.

"I was forced into the doing by my mother," Joanna said. "I admit myself glad when my merchant husband died and Finnick took me in… I was never raised for marriage, or the obedience he asked."

"Who is their king?" said Peeta. "What strength of swords does he command?"

"Panem has no king."

"How can this be? Every land has a chief, a king, a —"

She held up her hand. "Peace. There are many tribes, or Houses, and each House has its Mother."

_A Mother?_ Peeta frowned.

"But overall we defer to two people, the living representations of our gods Seeder and Chaff. There is the Anointed Father, who represents Chaff." Again something in Joanna's manner made Peeta study her well, but whatever discomfort the name of Chaff caused her, she dampened it down well. "And there is the priestess of Seeder, and we call her the Anointed Mother. The Anointed Mother is always a mother," Joanna continued. "It is part of her duty. When I left Panem so many years previous, the Anointed Mother was my mother. But it is possible she is gone now, and the woman who took her place is likely one of my many sisters, the youngest." Joanna gave a slight shiver, as if she were cold. "In Panem society it is always the younger daughter who inherits the power of the Mother, or of the Anointed Mother. Not the son, as in Trojan society, nor even the eldest daughter."

"The youngest inherits?" he asked. "How can this be so?"

"Why should the eldest inherit – whether son or daughter – when it is the youngest child who is the product of the mother's maturity and life-wisdom?" Joanna countered, shrugging.

Peeta thought that sounded slightly naïve – all knew the firstborn was the strongest-born – but he left it alone. "And the Anointed Father? Who is he? What manner of man is he? If you recall…"

Joanna smiled very bitterly. "When I left Panem the Anointed Father was an aging man," she said, "and weaker than he'd ever been when he was in his prime. I cannot know who he is now."

Peeta leaned back in his chair, and drank deeply of his wine. He was silent for many minutes, thinking of the picture Joanna had painted in his head – it was very hard to image, a society built around mothers as leaders, and with representations of their gods – and of Joanna herself who seemed less than enthusiastic at the idea of going back to her homeland. Why is that? Clove had said she was exiled, but not why… and he wondered if the plan was to merely bring her back and watch her get executed.

"Do you still speak the language of your birth?" he finally asked Joanna.

She replied in something unintelligible. Finnick laughed at the looks on Peeta's companion's faces.

"Will you teach it to me while my ships and people recover from the wild storm that so injured us?"

"If you think you can learn it," Joanna said, smirking. Then she paused, obviously uncertain whether or not to continue. "Peeta… many people have thought to conquer Panem. They have marched into the mists surrounding the Veiled Hills, and they have never emerged again. Panem is ancient, and unknowable…even to your gods. Its people aren't fierce, but our gods are powerful. Be careful."

Peeta didn't find the irony in her words amusing. "You don't want go home, do you?"

In answer, Joanna rose. "Whatever gave you that impression?" Sarcasm tainted her voice, and the next part she muttered was no doubt dark, but in the same unintelligible language as before.

They all watched her walk away, sauntering. Finnick apologized for her queer behavior.

"She's always like that," he explained, smiling. "Personally I find her a good friend once you get around the sarcasm."

* * *

Katniss sat on a stool, combing out her hair methodically, staring at her reflection. She didn't actually see it, but was lost somewhere in her mind. It was the first alone time she had in a while – Prim was off with Lavinia, exploring, and enjoying themselves. They had invited Katniss, but she had not been up for the idea of moving around, especially after a night of no sleep and a day of constant walking.

So absorbed she was, she hadn't noticed when Joanna paused in the doorway of her chambers.

"You look exhausted," Joanna said, startling Katniss, and then walking across the room and taking the comb from her hand. "And you're ripping right through your hair. Let me do that." Katniss tried to object, but Joanna tutted. "I might not have much hair, but at least I know how to take care of some."

She took up a place behind Katniss and began gently to run the comb through the younger woman's raven feathered hair, fingering the locks occasionally, and wondering how this woman came here.

"Your husband will be hours yet," she said. "I have left him talking and drinking with his companions."

Katniss gave a small shrug of her shoulders, as if she cared not one way or the other.

"Finnick has told me a little of you," Joanna said. As she spoke, she continued combing Katniss' hair with long, slow strokes, more careless movement than a true act of grooming. "Of how Peeta forced you into marriage, and forced that child into your belly. Of how your home was destroyed, and your people killed under it. Your sister barely escaped." She was not one to jump around harsh truths.

Katniss did not respond verbally, but Joanna could see how she'd stiffened.

"I, too," Joanna continued, very softly, "had a child forced into me when I was but a young girl, perhaps a year or two younger than you are now. I, too, was forced to leave my home. The difference between you and I though was all that misery culminated in a friend who stole me from it." Finnick, she meant, more a brother to her than he real family ever had been to her. "I have no idea what future awaits you, Katniss, and normally I wouldn't care… but considering our similar pasts, I do in a bit of spite toward your husband hope that joy and love will be a part of it."

There was a long silence, during which Joanna stopped combing and placed the brush aside on the vanity in front of Katniss. Finally, Katniss whispered, "I do not think so."

"Think what?"

"Love and joy… I do not think it'll come to that."

"And how is it you do not think so? Because of this burdensome Peeta of yours?"

"No," Katniss said, her hands and eyes dropping to her abdomen. "There are two things in my way."

"What things?"

Katniss gave a wiry smile. "Death," she said, lightly. "And a woman named Clove."

"Clove? Who is that?"

"Someone who wants the first thing to happen more than anything, and will do anything to see it come true... and if not, than she wants me gone from Peeta's side so she might be there. And I do not object, but… I must, because Peeta… needs me." That part seemed hard for her to say. "And even if I'm willing to forget about my promise to him, and to… some else in concerns of him… then I have to let go of this raging need in me to get revenge on Clove as well. And I don't think I can let it go."

"Revenge?" Joanna slid onto the stool beside Katniss, interested. "For what? This is getting interesting."

Hesitatingly, Katniss told Joanna of how she'd plotted with Prim's father to kill the Trojans as they left Mesopotamia, and how it had all failed, and her city, her people, and her father had been horribly killed as a result. "And yet I do take some blame for falling for it, Clove was the goddess who had come to me with the plans and whispered assurances in my ear. Only for me to fail miserably, knowing what it would eventually do. I think she meant for it to kill me, or Peeta to be so angry he would do it."

"But he didn't," Joanna pointed out. Katniss was beginning to think she was mocking her with this attention and she frowned, but Joanna was quick to smile and laugh. "Look on the bright side!"

"Which one?"

"The one where you're alive and soon going to give birth to a little Trojan prince. I might hate kids, and I might never have another, but the one I had... even though forced on me, I loved." The admittance seemed uncomfortable for her to say, but she shook it away with self-assurance. "And who knows? Maybe you will get your chance at this revenge in Panem. Will Clove be there?"

"Unfortunately." But Katniss seemed stuck on what Joanna first said, and could not move beyond it.

Though puzzled, Joanna dropped the matter and turned to the mirror. Side by side, Joanna was dwarfed by the thin and tall Katniss, and though Joanna's features were sharp, Katniss' were striking, dark.

Jo lifted a hand and stroked the girl's hair. Peeta's people, she knew, thought of her as a wayward child, untrustworthy and self-obsessed (and thought even less so of her sister), but that was not the woman who sat before Joanna now. With as much as Joanna hated her mother, and her sisters, and the idea of going home… she was a little happier knowing that with the Trojan fleet came this woman, a new queen. "I think," said Joanna slowly, "that you will grow to be a very great queen indeed, one day."

Katniss laughed outlandishly at that. "You've been talking to Peeta, for certain."

"Ah, Peeta!" Joanna grinned and waved a hand dismissively. "He is but a man." She rose and, taking Katniss' hand, led her to the bed. "This will be more comfortable. Here, sit with me and talk."

They sat close as they could, Katniss laying on her back and Joanna laying on her side, propped up on an elbow, using her free hand to continue to sift through Katniss' hair laid out on the pillows.

"In the land toward which you journey," Joanna said, conspiringly, "Peeta will be but a man in a world where women are revered more than men."

"Women? Revered?" Katniss sat up straight, her face amazed. "How can this be?"

Joanna laughed and, apologizing for her intrusion, rested her hand on Katniss' swollen belly. "For this reason, of course. Women hold the mystical ability to grow children within their bodies. We call it the Seeder within our womb, for Seeder is our mother goddess, and most revered, and it is her influence within our wombs that grants to us the ability to bear children. Men are respected, and loved and adored, as the case may be, – though not all cases, _I'd_ say – and it is their feet which tread the forests, but within the home, family, and village society, it is the women's voices which are listened to first.

"Women in Panem," she added, grinning, "do not even take husbands!"

_Seeder! _Katniss tried not to let the name mean anything to her visibly, in case Joanna noticed, but the whole statement left her reeling – and to know Seeder's homeland! No wonder Panem sounded so wondrous a word! _How could I have not known that the island we seek is Seeder's?_

She shook off the thought and asked, "No husbands? Then how do they breed their children?"

"Women take whomever they want into their beds, but never make formal unions with such lovers. Children born to women always stay within their mother's house, whether daughter or son. If a woman decides to take a man as her lover and to breed from him, she lays with him either in the blessed groves of the forests or the meadows of the sun, or she allows him into her bed for a few hours at night…but he must be gone back to his own mother's house by morning, lest he irritate the woman's own mother with his presence."

Katniss had her hands to her mouth as Joanna said all this, her eyes wide. Joanna enjoyed her reaction.

"You mean woman can take men as it pleased them, and not by what the men desire?"

"Aye."

Katniss was visibly shocked. "And a woman desires daughters more than sons?"

"Always."

Katniss fell silent, staring incredulously at Joanna who eventually laughed.

"Who knows," Joanna said. "Panem may be the haven you seek."

"Perhaps," Katniss said, her mood drooping again. "If I make it there…" Joanna wanted to ask how it was she would not… but Katniss suddenly thought: _if I could prove the vision wrong… _"Glimmer says I am carrying a son, but I hope for a daughter. Can you tell?" Katniss asked of Joanna.

Joanna hesitated. If Katniss had been born in Panem then, yes, it would have been easy, for she would have carried the Seeder within her womb, and that would have spoken to any Panem born woman.

But she was foreign to everything connected with Panem. There would be no possible way she could…

"Please," Katniss said, looking at Joanna with yearning eyes and placing Joanna's hands on her belly. Katniss had not struck Joanna as the pleading type, and it made Katniss' desperation clear to see. "Try," Katniss continued to say. "I need it to be a girl… I have to have a girl… Glimmer must be wrong."

Joanna sighed, then closed her eyes and made the effort, even though she knew it would be —

She jerked back, her eyes almost starting from her head. "By the gods!"

"What?"

Joanna swallowed, trying to regain composure. She brushed her hair from her forehead briskly.

Seeder was strong within Katniss' womb. Stronger than Joanna had ever felt it.

"I am but surprised," Joanna said, composed again, "for as it happens I could feel your child easily."

She paused.

"You carry a son."

Katniss' face fell. "Peeta will be please, at least."

"But you will love him, too. You will, surely. Remember that I, too, bore a child that was forced into me. I thought to hate him when he was born, but when I held him to my breast, it was as if all my doubts and hate had never been. I adored him. I'm telling you… it'll happen…"

"I cannot think so," Katniss said, grimacing as she placed a hand on her belly. "I won't get the chance."

"You will be a good mother," Joanna dismissed… and she said it in her native tongue of Panem.

"Maybe once I would have been, perhaps," Katniss replied, and she also spoke in Panem's native tongue as if she, too, had been born to it. "But not with this child, I think."

She stopped, and frowned.

"What did I just say? Oh, Joanna, I must be overtired if I babble nonsense! I am sorry."

Joanna had been stunned by Katniss' easy response in a tongue she should not have known, but hid her surprise well. "I will leave you to your rest in a moment, and stop pestering you, but tell me, who was your mother? A stranger to Mesopotamia's shores?"

"No. She was a Dorian Greek, as was my father."

"And her mother before her?"

"Also Greek. Why?"

"Seeder's mysteries are deeper than I thought," Joanna said, and she stood.

She waited until Katniss had slid into her bed and the covers before leaving.

And once Joanna had left and closed the door behind her, she leaned against the corridor wall, shaking.

"Seeder?" she whispered. "Seeder?" There was no answer.

* * *

Once Joanna left me, I slept immediately. It was a relief for the last few nights where no matter which way I positioned myself the baby pressed down painfully on me and I could not sleep. Too exhausted, and though Joanna's companionship was nice – and being treated as a joking equal was more than I could have hoped for – her statement about my child doomed me to think only of my coming death.

However, once my eyes shut, dreams took the worry away.

I dreamed twice, in fact, and both dreams were most wonderful.

My first dream was of a jewel. A great emerald jewel in a gray-blue sea, with mountains and meadows, rippling streams and raging whitewater rivers, and where a magnificent white stag with blood red antlers ran wild through the forests. This land was Panem, I knew, and it was home.

Then, unsurprisingly, I dreamed again of the great stone hall that stood within Panem – I knew not that if it actually was built there, or if it was a figment of my imagination, but I knew that it was meant to be from there. I walked through its vast spaces, happier than I could ever imagine, happy to be there.

I heard the tinkle of a child's laughter, a girl, and I turned about, trying to see her.

She was there, but almost indiscernible, always just at the corner of my vision, laughing and playing.

I cried out to her, calling her to me, for I knew this girl was my friend.

But all she did was laugh, and slide farther out of my vision.

Then her laughter died, and I knew she had gone.

But I was not bereft, for someone else was within the vastness of the stone hall.

A man who loved me dearly, perhaps that I loved, too, although I was not sure.

I called out a name, although it was indistinct and I could not tell whose name it was.

He stepped out from under the shadows of one of the arches and walked toward me.

I laughed, and ran to him and, as his arms encircled me, lifted my mouth to his and drowned in his kiss.

* * *

That same night, just before the early hours in the morning, Peeta was still sitting out on the sheltered portico overlooking the bay, alone now. He sat with his thoughts, and some figs and his regrets.

He was nursing huge uncertainties. Most of them were around Katniss; he was uncertain if he could save her from her fate, and if he should – no. He had to. He promised. Clove would deal with Katniss, he decided ultimately and he wouldn't press friendship any further for Katniss' safety's sake. Just as he said before…? But this time it was official. Their marriage was null and void. Friends only.

"Right," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Next uncertainty was Joanna; he knew it had to happen eventually. Clove's plan depended on them making a New Troy in Panem, so they can build their god wells and become immortal… and then as a result being virtually untouchable… and at that point able to risk attacking Thresh.

But he wasn't even sure he still wanted to attack Thresh. It had been Clove's idea to begin with…

Thoughts against or negative on Clove always brought his other half to the surface, but this time Peeta was prepared for the surge and he wrestled it back. He came away clean and smiled, proud of himself.

He thought Katniss would be proud, too.

Then he heard a step, and felt a presence and he turned, half expecting to see a fuming Clove.

Instead, Annie stood there. Moonlight painted her silver and fragile, and Peeta stood. "Annie," he said, surprised, but not entirely so. He glanced around at the empty surroundings, then offered her a chair.

Annie sat heavily beside him, staring out at the bay. "You met him…" she said.

"Finnick?" Peeta asked.

"Finnick," Annie repeated, the name rolling off her tongue, tasting the sound. "He's beautiful."

"Yes. And kind, funny, and charming. Is he the man you were wanting to meet?"

Annie shrugged, the movement shuddering with power – even unintentionally.

Peeta didn't have to be told that Annie already made her god well and was immortal.

"Then why have you chosen to show yourself now? Just an hour ago Finnick sat here with me."

"I know." Annie flushed and looked agitated, then swung her head Peeta's way. "I couldn't."

"Why not?" Peeta asked.

"I can't… talk to him. It's too hard. What will he think of me?"

"That you are an immensely powerful and beautiful goddess. He'll be intimidated and awed, no doubt."

"Or he'll be frightened… like you all. Or he'll think me broken, like you all say I am."

Peeta felt uncomfortable underneath her searching, insecure stare. "You… hear us?"

"I hear all of you, all the time, wherever I go. Even now, I hear them. Can't you?"

"No."

"Then you've not made your well."

"I haven't."

"I do not think it was this way for the Olympians, but it is with us. It's unnerving. Being so connected… but so deserted, too. We're falling apart and…" Annie began to shake. "And I can sense what's going to happen… and it is not good for anyone. You and Clove aren't the only ones plotting."

Peeta dared not move or say anything, not wanting to confirm the statement that he and Clove were in fact plotting things other than for the good of the Enlightened as a whole. He just nodded, cautiously, wondering where this slightly more level-headed Annie was most of the time.

Was it being so close to this man she liked so well that influenced her?

"You know, I can introduce you to him, if you'd like. If it'd make it easier for you…"

Annie jumped, delighted, and her hand snatched up his. "You'd do that for me? Truly?"

And in her thoughts, Peeta heard something – and it could only have been at her bequest –

_Clove said you would introduce us if I did her that favor._

"What favor?" he asked.

Annie blinked. "I don't know what you mean." He knew she was lying, acting… and what was worse than the realization that Annie could act so well, was that Clove was keeping secrets from him.

In the end Peeta smiled and said, "Tomorrow morning, I'll introduce the two of you."

_Thank you._


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N: I don't know why but I'm so into writing this story so much right now! Thank you for all your feedback! The birth is in this one, and I hope you enjoy. As always I disown everything that isn't mine. Thank you for reading.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Peeta kept his fleet in the bay of Locrinia some five weeks. It was far longer than he had planned, but it took time to find the right trees to cut down for masts, and then to trim the new masts into their keel beds.

There were also several score Trojans who had serious injuries caused in the straits of the Pillars of Hercules: eight of these people died within a few days, but the others needed time to heal before they set off again on the rigors of a sea voyage.

These delays normally would have made his people impatient, but Peeta found himself intrigued by what Joanna taught him of Panem and was not deterred for an instant by the time gap. The land and its people appeared wild and uncivilized, but imbued with the deep wisdom of a power so archaic that Peeta began to suspect it predated even the gods of the Greeks and Trojans.

Panem's gods Chaff and Seeder both repelled and intrigued Peeta. They were ancient — as old as the land itself; Joanna said the entire land was dotted with stone monuments built to honor Chaff and Seeder by people who had lived so long ago that the Panem's people had no idea what purpose the monuments originally served. When Peeta asked about their power, Jo merely shrugged, and said that she could not believe that they would welcome Peeta's plan to build New Troy on Panem's wild shores.

Peeta was perturbed less by what she said than by the fear in Joanna's eyes every time she talked about her childhood gods. He wondered what it was that worried her, if she somehow knew what she was to Chaff, but she refused to respond to his pressing, and always turned the conversation to other things.

As Joanna had said, Panem's language was relatively difficult to learn, but once Peeta had mastered its basic structure the going got easier. Peeta had spent the greater part of his life traveling about the lands of the Mediterranean, acquiring new languages as he went. To acquire one more took little effort. Within two weeks of his arrival in Locrinia Peeta had mastered the language's basic constructions, after that it was the far simpler task of acquiring new words for everyday meanings.

As Peeta learned, so too did most of his officers and those men of authority within the Trojan people. Cato, Marvel, Glimmer, Idaeus, and all their immediate subordinates learned the basics of the language; Finnick already knew the tongue well enough throughout Joanna and his years of friendship.

Surprisingly — _stunningly_, given that she'd shown no hint of any talent save a stubbornness Peeta could not quail and a voice made for singing — Katniss proved the most adept at learning the language. Every day she acquired more and more words, and, so Joanna said, spoke with scarcely an accent.

This troubled Peeta somewhat – he tried to shake this off, knowing that it was merely a thought produced by the bands, not himself… But he was not trouble that she was finally actually doing something useful, but the "how" of her learning. Who was she learning it from?

True, she and Joanna had become fast friends, and true, they spent time together most days.

But not enough to learn so fast or so extensively.

Was she learning from Finnick?

Peeta could not keep track of everyone within the household, not when there was so much to do elsewhere…were Katniss and Finnick spending time together that Peeta was not aware of?

That worried him, desperately.

He couldn't actually believe that Finnick was truly tempted by Katniss — surely Annie would deter any liking he could have developed for Katniss. _Soon_, Peeta comforted himself, shoving off the band's influence. Though he had promised Annie to introduce her the very next dawn, he thought in the morning that it would suspicious for her suddenly to arrive and be so late to be introduced.

Instead, he had a plan.

Annie looked uncertain about it as he told her, but Peeta assured her. "He'll love you the moment he sees you," he said, and whispered all the gritty details in her ear, hopeful she would not mess up.

Now today was the day for the plan to be exacted.

Per the plan Peeta influenced Finnick and his officers down to the small beach around the bay, to overlook his fleet, and go over the coming travel plans. Marvel, ever the business man, prattled on about tallies and repairs, while Peeta walked in the lead down the beach the other following slowly.

Peeta kept his head high, and his eyes scanned the shoreline insistently.

The water was a peculiar cobalt that day, sucking gently at the sand. Wind played over their faces, salty and warm, and if Peeta cared to note, caressing. _Are you ready? _Peeta thought to the sea.

His answer came in the form of a straggled, terrified scream.

All the men – and no, Glimmer did not – stirred themselves to the sound. Marvel looked to the city and Cato to the boats anchored not far distant, but it was Finnick who saw the woman first. Laying amid the sand, sea water churning around her form, a beautiful – no _blinding_ – woman struggled to shore.

Finnick streaked toward her without a thought in his head, or breath in his lungs.

Annie looked her part well; tangled brown hair dripping, sticking to her pale cheeks, her white robes clinging to her body with salt water – revealing a form marble-like in its perfection – and her expression showed a range of emotions from (truly) fright, instability, and anxious need.

Finnick reached Annie just as she fell into the sand on her knees, free of the water. Peeta smiled at the startled fling of her eyes as Finnick did not wait to speak with her, but swung her up in his arms.

"Beautiful lady," Finnick gasped, brushing wet hair from her forehead. "How is it you come here?"

The ability to form words seemed a loss to her, and Peeta stepped forward, meaning to help. He affected a look of horror. "By the gods! Annie!" He touched her arm, and – reluctantly – Finnick loosened his hold on her so that she stood on her two bare feet, but was still leaning into his side.

"You know her?" Finnick asked Peeta.

"Yes." Peeta flickered his eyes between the two. "Finnick… this is Annie, Annie… this is Finnick." A pause as Finnick smiled down at her, and Annie blinked owlishly back. "What's happened to you?" Peeta asked Annie. "Last I heard you were among those who we lost in our passing of the pillars. You've survived! For so long? Among the waves and seaweed? You must be god-favored indeed."

"Likely one struck in love with you by such beguiling beauty," Finnick said, more truth than flattery.

Annie flushed, her eyes sparked in pleasure.

Then, Finnick started. "How rude of me! I have not asked you if you're hurt? You must thirst, and be starving. Please, come… you are welcome to my home and my table fully. I fear you may ask for any hospitality in my reach, for it is yours and I will surely surrender it to you with only one word."

At that point Cato and Marvel, Glimmer, and the rest of the captains drew near. They didn't question what Peeta said because among thousands of Trojans, how were they to know she was not one? Each watched the woman in uncertain awe, and as Annie opened her mouth to speak for the first time, Peeta prayed her voice to come out easy and steady.

It didn't.

It shook and Annie's voice seemed to freeze mortals in their skin.

"I am lost."

Her words confused most, as it was very obvious what she was – but Finnick stayed frozen for much longer than the others, staring down in Annie's sea-green eyes as if mesmerized. Then he smiled, in a gentler way than his usual easy coming and friendly grins… as if taking great care. He touched her cheek, then once more swung her in his arms and began back toward the city. As he passed…

…Peeta swore he heard Finnick reply, "You'll never be lost again. Not from me."

* * *

The departure was put off for another three days at Finnick's assistance. He tended to Annie day and night, and refused to leave until he was certain she had recovered fully from her last 'ship travel' from which 'she was thrown from the ship's deck into the deeps' and 'it was a miracle she survived'. Peeta wasn't solely upset about the delay – though some were grumpy for it – and allowed Annie her peace.

It became rapidly obvious Finnick did, in fact, have a love beyond the sea.

The delay relieved Peeta from the anxiety of reaching Panem, and the inevitable come of big plans.

But it _had_ been five weeks and time was passing quickly. Every time he saw either Prim or Katniss their bellies looked like to burst at any moment, and it was Prim who was supposed to pop first. He could tell Katniss was doting over her, trying to relieve her sister of discomfort while ignoring her own.

If he were a bolder man – or a better friend – he would make her settle down and put Lavinia to the task of looking after Prim, but he knew that would only upset Katniss. Besides bold wasn't _him_… and he had worked hard over the past five weeks to pass them without one incident of his other half.

In fact, the past five weeks went so well he was reluctant to leave. Many times he found himself sitting with Katniss, laughing or talking of matters unrelated to their troubles and she graced him smiles, and she let Prim talk freely with him (it was not often Katniss allowed any Trojan near Prim, in worry they would harm the little princess and that sign of trust filled Peeta with pleasure and pride).

Each smile from her, each meeting of their eyes across a room, it only served to remind him that with her swelling belly came her impending death. Cato himself took every opportunity to remind Peeta of Glimmer's vision that showed Katniss' dying in childbirth. Katniss had not long to live, (if Peeta didn't find a way to prevent this coming end) and she would not trouble him at all in Panem or in whatever relationship Clove chose to commence with him.

She was carrying a son for him, an heir, and that should be all that mattered.

The trouble was that wasn't it. Cato, thankfully, hadn't come to see how much he cared for Katniss, but surely they would know once she's gone and all he can do is grieve her loss. Surely they will begin to notice that when Peeta looked at Katniss, he saw not so much his son anymore, but Katniss herself.

* * *

Predictably, their falsely continued relationship as husband and wife strengthened in image. More often people noticed them together, being friendly, and when Peeta was seeking her out, they could tell by the smile on his face. Others didn't know or predict the break in their marriage, but were of course unaware that though they shared a bed every night (he could not very well tell Finnick that he would not sleep in the same room as her) Peeta kept his promise and did not touch her – unless she invited it, and it was usually only a rare squeeze of a hand or a brush of his leg on her calf. Often those nights she humped as far away from him as she could (not entirely forgiving), and sometimes, when he woke during the night, he heard her laugh softly in her sleep, and knew she dreamed of either Gale or her childhood.

Worse than Katniss' sleep-laughter was the vision that had gripped Peeta himself one night.

He'd gone into a deep sleep when he'd woken, startled.

And Peeta was no longer in the chamber he shared with Katniss.

Instead he stood in a stone hall so vast that he could barely comprehend the skill required to build it. The roof soared so far above his head he could hardly see it, while to either side long aisles of perfectly rounded stone columns guarded shadowy, esoteric places. This was a place of great mystery and power.

There was a movement in the shadows behind one of the ranks of columns, and Katniss — utterly naked, smiling brighter than Peeta ever thought her capable – walked out into the open space of the hall.

Peeta drew in a sharp, audible breath, but she did not acknowledge his presence, and Peeta was aware that even though they stood close, she had no idea he was present. Katniss looked different, and it took Peeta a long moment to work out why. She was older, perhaps by ten or fifteen years, far more mature, far, far lovelier. And Peeta realized he was holding his breath and let it out slowly, studying her.

Her body was leaner and stronger than it was now, her hips and breasts more rounded, her flanks and legs smoother and more graceful. Her face was thinned, revealing more of that striking bone structure, and there were lines of care and laughter about her eyes and mouth that accentuated her loveliness rather than detracted from it. "Katniss," Peeta dared to say, and stretched out his hand.

She paid him no attention, wandering back and forth, first this way, then that, her eyes anxious, and Peeta understood that she was waiting for someone. _Who? Not him, as she has just proven._

Then, suddenly, she stopped and stared straight at him.

"I thought you would not come!" she said, and Peeta almost groaned at the love in her eyes and voice.

"Katniss," Peeta said again, taking a step forward, his heart gladder than he could have thought possible. And then he staggered as a man brushed past him and walked toward Katniss.

This was the man that Katniss had smiled at and spoken to, and he was as unaware of Peeta's presence as Katniss was. A deep, vile anger consumed Peeta – which he was helpless to fight at that time.

_Who was this that she met?_

The man was as naked as Katniss. Who was he? Finnick? Yes…no. Peeta had an unobstructed view of the man's face, yet could not make it out. First he was sure that he wore Finnick's fair features, then they darkened, and became those of a man unknown. They were not Gale's either…

Katniss said the man's name, her voice rich with love, and it, too, was indiscernible to Peeta's ears.

"Do you know the ways of a god's love?" said the man.

"Of course," said Katniss, and she walked directly into the man's arms, her arms slipping softly about his body, and offered her mouth to his. They kissed, passionately, the kiss of a man and a woman well used to each other, and Peeta found his hands were clenched at his side. Then Katniss and her lover slid to the floor, and with a sigh of complete contentment, the man mounted her, still kissing her face.

"No!" Peeta shouted, and would have stepped forward and grabbed at the man now moving over Katniss with long, powerful strokes save that he found himself unable to move.

He could witness, but he could not interfere.

He became aware of a presence at his side and was not surprised to see Seeder there, staring at the two withering on the floor together. "What is this?" Peeta spat, fuming. "Is this the truth?"

"No." Seeder's voice echoed in the vast hall. "It is the future."

The lovers' tempo and passion intensified, and Katniss moaned and twisted, encouraging her lover in every way she could, and they kissed again, their bodies now so completely entwined, so completely merged, that they seemed but one. Peeta could not watch, could not stomach the sight…

He turned to Seeder and grasped her by the shoulders, forcing the fey goddess to look away as well.

"Tell me how to stop this!" he said. "Who is he?"

"He is…" Seeder thought for a moment. "He is whole, and a good man for her."

"_I'm_ a good man for her," Peeta said, despairing, gesturing to his chest. "I've been protecting her."

Seeder laughed, and then eyed him in some pity. "Look again at the man. Look _closely_."

But when Peeta turned he saw that the man was being dragged off of Katniss, as she screamed in protest. The stranger who had come out of nowhere grunted as he delivered a blow to her lover's head and knocked him senseless. Defenseless, Katniss made to flee, but the stranger man grabbed at her animalistically, angrily, and pressed her into the nearest archway, her back hitting _hard_ against the stone.

Her hands were on this new man's shoulders as if to push him off.

Peeta still could not move, and he watched in horror as the man's form blurred again, and became something horrible and violent. A man, yes, with a thick, muscled body, but pale and white haired.

"Coriolanus!" Katniss cried out, fighting to be free. "I don't have them! I don't!"

This Coriolanus tipped back his head and roared with laughter, and both Katniss and Peeta screamed at the same moment as the blade sunk into Katniss' belly. Blood pooled, smearing across her thighs and flanks. Coriolanus smiled down at Katniss' gapping mouth and his movements became more violent, murderous, and repeatedly drew the knife out and in, out and in. Until Katniss was barely standing.

Her head was tipped back, her face screwed up in agony, and her fists beat a useless tattoo across the hateful name's back and shoulders; a tattoo of a rose. "Katniss! Katniss!" Peeta began to scream, and for once both Katniss and Coriolanus heard him, and turned their faces to him and Peeta knew who it was in that one horrible instant. The face was unfamiliar, but the tattoo jolted through Peeta an unknown certainty – _Coriolanus!_ The god of poison, the man whose power he drew from… or stole?

Coriolanus looked grim at the sight of Peeta, and let go of Katniss' arm. She sank slowly, hands scrabbling to keep her blood inside of her, but her eyes were on Peeta, frightened and wide. "Run!" she shouted, and that one word was enough to wake him. Violently, jerking into a sitting position in their bed, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and staring, Peeta returned to his original chamber in Locrinia.

Beside him Katniss sat up as well, and was asking him what was the matter.

"Nothing," he whispered. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

Eventually she did, but Peeta sat there the night through, awake.

All he could see, all he could hear, was the sound of Katniss' voice as she welcomed her lover.

And the sound of her screaming as the blade dove into her stomach over and over again.

* * *

The evening before the next decided departure date Katniss sought Peeta out in the verandah of Finnick's house. Peeta was exhausted — he'd spent the greater part of the day helping a team of men wrest a new mast into position on one of the ships, and the very last thing he wanted was to see her and remember that wretched dream he had but two nights ago. Still, he perked up at the sight of her.

"Peeta?"

"Hmm?" he said, hoping the disinterest in his voice and his closed eyes as he leaned back in his chair would send her away. A futile hope… because he didn't really actually want her gone…

"Joanna says Prim's within a few days of birth. Peeta… I do not want her to give birth on ship. It's a dangerous thing, with it being her first child. Can we not delay our departure until she's had her child?"

It was not what he expected and so he sat up and studied her stoic expression. She, herself, would certainly be about to drop her child soon. Her belly was huge, her ankles swollen, and her face drawn.

But he also knew Primrose was barely allowed to rise from bed anymore, and was worse off.

Actually… Peeta sat up straighter and studied Katniss closer. There was something off about her. He'd noticed since they first arrived in Finnick's city that she slept little, and though he knew she slept enough – since he shared her bed – he could not explain the paleness of her face, nor the dark circles under her eyes, and the limp in her step. "Are you unwell?" he inquired, forgetting Prim for a moment.

"I'm alright." Katniss sighed and sank into a chair next to his – he barely noticed her wince. "But I'm worried about Prim. She's terrified, and I don't want her to lose this baby. It means the world to her."

"Then we remain behind," Peeta decided – not excited to share the news to his captains.

The unrestrained smile that lit up Katniss' her face should have gladdened him, but all Peeta could see was her expression as she welcomed her lover, and her body as it writhed ecstatically under his.

"I shall tell her the new immediately," Katniss breathed and made to stand.

Peeta watched her limp out with a gathering sense of dread.

* * *

It turned out that the fleet would remain only one day longer in Locrinia. For at noon the day after Katniss asked of Peeta for the time Prim fell into labor. Peeta had never seen Katniss in such a frenzy.

He didn't remain long in the birthing chamber, only long enough to see if he was need. (He wasn't, of course.) Midwifes flooded the room, more than needed, thanks to Finnick who called for and said he would pay any and all for the healthy birth and care for Primrose and her child.

Within the chamber, for hours, Katniss sat by Prim, holding her hand and soothing her. Lavinia told Prim how to breathe and what to do when her time to bear down was upon her. Though there was pain, Prim rarely screamed or cried out, and for that Katniss was relieved. "She's strong," Jo said, impressed.

"Of course she is," Katniss said, petting the hair from Prim's sweaty face. "She's a princess."

Finnick came by to check on the status, offering his help anywhere it was needed. But Katniss could see he wanted to get back to Annie who he'd left in the other room and shooed him away.

As the sun sank in the sky, Prim's time to push came and she finally began to show her fear.

"Oh, Katniss," she said, "what if my child doesn't live? What if it is born without life? This is the last of Rory I have and it could be lost all on one mistake or mischance. What if…?" A sob escaped her.

"Hush," Katniss murmured. "Hush and breathe, and be positive. All will be well."

And sure enough, not much later, a loud cry broke on the air and Lavinia held up a healthy baby girl.

They stayed that one last night to clean Prim up, make sure the baby was unmarred by defects, and Peeta to make all the plans to sail at dawn. Many came to visit during the night, to see the new addition to the already massive fleet. Peeta dipped by remarking with surprise the child's very Greek features.

"She looks just like her father," Prim said, running her finger through the small tuft of brown hair.

Katniss sat beside her, practically glowing with pride. "She's healthy, and we will be ready to board in the morning," she told Peeta. "We can't delay this trip any longer can we?" And her smile looked real.

_Has she forgotten her own coming birth? _No, surely not.

Finnick came by, holding Annie by the hand and urging her in the room. She looked skittish, as she so often did whenever Finnick brought her out in public, under the watchful eyes of his people. No one seemed to know what to with their leader who had never taken a wife but was so suddenly in love.

The remaining midwives openly stared at the stunning woman, suspicious, and admiring, as well.

But Prim merely smiled, and plopped her daughter into this strange woman's arms.

Katniss knew who Annie was more than Finnick or the others, thanks to Peeta, but she did not think Annie knew that she knew the truth of her. "Be careful," she decided to say, instead of embarrassing the entire room by taking the baby back out of the unstable goddess' reach. "She's fragile."

Annie didn't seem to hear. She was entranced by the small being her arms.

Finnick nudged her and smiled. "Are you very maternal?" he teased.

"I've never held a baby so young," Annie said, then looked up at Prim. "Did it hurt very much?"

"Nothing that wasn't worth having my daughter."

Annie hummed something unintelligible – singing? – and stroked the child's face.

Finnick watched her watch the infant and Katniss could see his thoughts brewing.

Many hours later, Katniss watched Annie and Finnick leave, wondering who would hurt more the day he died of old age, and Annie was force to live on, forever immortal and untouched by time.

* * *

They sailed on a bright, late summer morning the day after Prim's daughter's birth, Aurora.

(Aurora, after the mother they shared. "But she was a whore, Prim," Katniss explained. "The name is ill-suited for a princess of a princess. Isn't there another name you liked? There has to be!"

Prim shook her head, stubborn. "Her name is Aurora." Then she grinned, "Besides! Now I can call her Rory." And Katniss knew because of that relation to the father she could not deter her from the name.)

The citizens of Locrinia, grateful (if sad) to be leaving their condemned city, had stowed both their belongings and themselves aboard whatever vessels they could find; those several hundred who could not be fitted aboard the Locrinian fishing, merchant, and warships Peeta managed to find space for on his owns ships. It would be a crowd, but from what Finnick and other Locrinian captains told him, with luck it would only be a short voyage of under ten days to reach the island of Albion where lay Panem.

_It would need to be under that space of time_, Peeta thought the morning of their departure, _the autumn storms are very close upon us, and we can't risk another day of delay if we should be free of them._

But, fortunately, this day was fine. (He could not decide if Annie had anything to do with that.) The waters of the bay, thronged with black-hulled vessels of every shape and size, glittered under the warm sun. Every ship had jewel-colored pennants fluttering from their masts and stem posts, and along every side of every hull oars lifted, waiting for the cries of the orderers. On their decks, and packed into their hulls, brightly clothed men, women, and children shouted and waved to friends and relatives in neighboring ships.

Autumn storms notwithstanding, Peeta knew they were leaving only just in time. In the past several weeks more and more of Locrinia had been collapsing: this past week alone had witnessed the final destruction of over fifty homes. They had not even needed the rains to arrive to come down. The cracks had spread farther and farther every day so that by the time the Locrinians had boarded, there remained only about half of the city habitable.

And even that, Peeta thought, would crumble into the sea within weeks of their departure.

He'd managed to put into the back of his mind the resemblance of the cracks here to those that had swept through Mesopotamia. Coincidence or not, every town or city occasionally suffered the depravations of earth surges. If Clove influenced it, it was for the better of their plans.

"When we have gone the city will vanish," Finnick said softly at Peeta's side. He turned to stare at him.

Finnick was staring at the city, tears in his eyes. "It has been my beloved home," he said. "No matter toward what glory we might sail, Peeta, this has been my home. When it is gone the forests and grasses will creep in, and within two or three generations no one will ever know what pride and happiness existed here. My forefathers made this city and I had the honor of holding it, but it falls now."

"All things must pass," Peeta said, hating the lameness of his reply.

"Aye," said Finnick, turning away. "All things must pass."

Peeta put his back to the all-but-ruined city himself, and looked at the fleet.

For the first time, Peeta truly felt the weight of responsibility settle upon his shoulders. He now commanded a fleet containing some twelve thousand souls, all of whom had placed their trust in him to lead them to a better life. Not only would he need to command them through uncertain waters to their destination, but he would then need to negotiate with Panem's people for land on which to build New Troy. None of it would be easy… unless Clove was working on the plan as of that moment.

What was she doing? Peeta could not know and had not seen or heard from her since the island. There had not been any coming of the bands, but it seemed she knew he did not need them anymore.

Because he was done with that piece of him. He had survived near six weeks without incident and would continue to do so, even if Clove appeared and commanded that side of him utilized.

Katniss' voice, murmuring to Lavinia about the ache in her back, broke across his thoughts.

Peeta settled his gaze on his… friend/ex-wife. He noticed how she had not asked them remain behind long enough for her to give birth on land, even though it was also her first child. _Perhaps… p__erhaps she hopes if she continues on moving toward Panem her fate will be changed._

At least that's what Peeta was now hoping.

He sailed this time on Finnick's warship rather than his own. It was more commodious than his warship, fully decked above the oar benches, and had enough cabin accommodation for Finnick, Annie, Joanna, Peeta, Katniss, Primrose and her new baby to stay comfortably, as well as for Lavinia and her husband and child, and Cato, Glimmer, and Marvel, to share the smallest of the cabins.

Peeta drew in a deep breath, and nodded to Finnick, who raised his arm in a prearranged signal.

Instantly trumpets sounded from a score of ships, and a great shout rose from those who were crowded into the ships' hulls. The orderers raised their voices and as one sang the beat, and at the sound of the beat all the oars of the one hundred and eighteen vessels in the fleet dipped into the sea.

They were on their way.

* * *

The fleet sailed north for five days, following the line of the coast to their right.

The weather favored them, and every dawn and dusk Peeta thanked Annie for her favor. She was not tried by the work, and was too glad to be the center of Finnick's attention to be weary. The ships made good headway, people stayed cheerful – indeed, often the day was filled with the sound of singing as voices passed ballads and choruses between ships – and on the fourth day Annie stood at the deck of the ship, and dolphins appeared, presumably drawn to her presences and they danced and dipped in the surging waters under the fleet's stem posts, pleasing everyone who had turn to watch them.

Finnick spoke miracles into Annie's hair and held her around the waist as they stood leaning over the rail of his great warship. Often he joked that Poseidon must truly adore her, and he would not know what to do if he tried to take her from him. "I would be a very sorry man indeed," he said.

"Would you fight him?" Annie asked, frowning. "To get me back if he stole me?"

"With everything I am," Finnick swore, but that only seemed to further upset her, and he realized this immediately. He was quick to draw her into him, and the contact seemed to soothe her shaking. "What is it?" he asked, forcing her to meet his eyes – he knew gentleness and eye contact was key, after only spending a handful of days getting to know her. "Do you fear that I might lose and die?" he wondered.

But she was beyond speaking, and shaking again, burying her face in his chest.

They did not come out the next day to soak in the sunshine.

The peace and fair sailing lasted only for those few short days.

For on the sixth day what Peeta had being dreading for so long was finally upon them.

At dawn on the sixth day leaving from Locrinia Katniss went into labor.

* * *

He'd been in asleep, lulled by the caressing motion of the ship, when Katniss had suddenly cried out.

Peeta leapt to his feet, clutching at his sword, before he realized he was not under attack at all, and that the cry had come from Katniss, now sitting amid their blankets clutching at her belly, was one of labor.

Immediately, Lavinia arrived, groaning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Lavinia?" Peeta said, hoping the woman might have some magical words to utter that might restrict Katniss to a more dignified moaning. At that point Katniss was curled up around herself, and Lavinia made a face at the show. She squatted down by Katniss, and put her hands on Katniss' belly..

"It is the baby," Katniss gasped. "It hurts!" Then she howled as another contraction gripped her.

"It is nothing more than all women bear!" Lavinia snapped. "If you think this hurts, then wait until this evening!" Peeta tried not to let the condescending tone of her voice bother him. Lavinia's knowledge on this was greater than his and her lazy and knowing movements in this situation were reassuring.

But once her hand shifted to the underside of Katniss' belly, Lavinia's face paled.

"Katniss?" she asked, moving with sudden purpose. Lavinia grabbed Katniss' shoulders and forced her to uncurl, to make her look into her face, but when Katniss' eyes opened they were dull with pain

"What is it?" Peeta demanded, sinking onto the bed. "Is something wrong?"

Lavinia didn't answer him, but called out loudly for Joanna. After several more cries, a very ruffled and unhappy Joanna arrived in their cabin, tying a robe around her waist. But the scowl on her face broke when she heard Katniss' next groan of pain and she moved forward without thought.

Peeta moved around them, asking questions until finally Joanna answered. She pulled her hands from Katniss' belly, frowning deeply, and said, "The baby has not moved in the womb as it should." She laid a hand on the belly, just under her ribs. "His head is here, tucked beneath my heart, and it should be –"

"Will it kill her?" he cut in, not understanding midwifery knowledge.

"No." And with that the woman shooed him. He decided he'd heard enough of her pain anyway – wondering more now than ever about Glimmer's prediction – and snatching at the tunic and cloak he'd taken to wearing in these cooler northern climes, Peeta beat a hasty retreat to the deck.

* * *

Lavinia and Joanna did not have to bear the burden of Katniss' labor alone. Primrose joined her sister within moments of Peeta vacating the cabin, and two other women, experienced midwives that had helped Prim deliver her baby less than a week ago, joined them shortly thereafter.

Altogether Katniss had the care of five women who had knowledge of childbirth both personally and through aiding scores of other women give birth. But their aid was of little use to Katniss. It became clear that her labor would not be as easy as Prim's was. She was not as young a girl, but still growing herself, and as Joanna had said, the baby had not moved about in the womb as it should so that it could be born headfirst. Instead, it was a breech presentation, and no matter how much Katniss labored, the child would not shift. Many of the midwives tried to coax the breech child around to the way it should be for a proper birth using their hands, leaving Katniss heavily bruised and sore, all to no good results.

Caught in the unknown, gripped by horrific pain, Katniss descended into a panic. She tried not to scream often, but she did, and she tried to breathe and sit, but contractions tore through her worse whenever… she did anything. The unease of her companions did nothing to soothe her.

The threat of Glimmer's vision hung over her like a storm cloud each moment she spent in pain.

Prim tried to calm her, and Katniss did remain composure, but not in a way that reassured.

If she was not outright screaming and gripping at her stomach, Katniss was curled up against the bottom of the wall – since they had thought to make her squat, leaning against the wood – and instead of screaming, she shook and buried her face in her knees, breathing tight and hard, unresponsive.

Peeta, standing as far away from the cabin as possibly he could, nevertheless heard every shriek, every groan that every did escapes her when she lost control. It tore on his nerves, driving him to distraction.

Marvel stood with him, offering as much sympathy and support as he could; Finnick paced up and down the deck of the ship, looking alternatively between the cabin and Peeta, his expression worried.

_Worried for what?_ Peeta thought, darkly. _That he might lose Katniss?_ She should be nothing but just a woman to him, there was no reason for him to evidence such concern. But then he shook himself.

Finnick had Annie, and his concern was only that of a friends.

"All women scream during labor," Marvel offered hopefully. "It helps them to expel the baby."

"Katniss will be well, have no doubt," Annie said, softly, scarcely heard.

Peeta caught Glimmer's eye from across the deck, and did not answer.

"Did you not say this would be a son?" Marvel said, trying frantically to find something cheerful to say. Katniss' wails were echoing down the entire ship, setting children to crying, and the adults to much muttering and rolling of eyes. Marvel's attempts were kindly put, but Peeta wondered what he would be saying if he knew that soon… rather very soon, Katniss would not be screaming any longer.

Queries started being shouted from other ships, concerned at the racket emanating from Finnick's vessel, and Peeta grew heartily tired of having to shout back that it was just his wife, giving birth.

In the midafternoon, when not only Peeta's nerves, but those of everyone else on board, had been frayed to the breaking point, Lavinia and Joanna emerged from the cabin, both grim.

Joanna caught sight of Peeta at the stem post of the ship, and marched resolutely toward him.

"Is the child born?" asked Peeta.

"I wish to the gods it were!" Lavinia shouted from where she stood.

Joanna brushed off the comment. "The kid lays wrong in the womb… and no matter what we do or Katniss tries it will not turn. I've never seen a child so stubborn. It can't be birthed this way."

Finnick had walked over. "What do you do with a baby that can't be birthed? There's no way?"

"Well it can be birthed the way it is, but not without much risk to both of them."

Everyone was looking to Peeta then, waiting for him to say he was for that.

Glimmer slunk over and wound an arm through Peeta's her eyes sharp and knowing.

He took a deep breath, during which time none of the men said anything.

"I'll talk to her," Peeta finally said.

"Wait," Prim called, stepping from the cabin. Her eyes were wide and frightened – she had never seen her bigger sister this way, and never felt so helpless because of it. "I think we should get her off the ship. I had my baby just fine on land. It'll help, don't you think? The motion of the ship must disturb her and it makes her ill and takes her mind from the task at hand. Isn't a small stop worth it?"

Finnick nodded, and then turned to say something to Peeta – who had paled – but Cato spoke quickly, and in a smooth, unctuous voice, placing his hand on Peeta's arm. "Perhaps it will be a kindness to find some peasantish hovel on the coast where she can push this child out, my friend."

"It might be for the best, after all. For all of us," Glimmer added.

Peeta knew what they were saying: _Let the vision fulfill its course. Let her give birth in this unknown peasant hut, and let that unknown hand slice her in two as soon as your son slides from her body._

It would be for the best.

What horrified him was that it was Prim's idea, and now, the deed would be hers to sorrow in.

For the cabin Katniss cried out, then her voice broke, and descended into a heart-wrenching sobbing.

_Is the pain really that bad, or is it the knowledge that soon she will no longer be alive?_

"For the gods' sakes, Peeta!" Finnick shouted, the sharpest his voice had ever been since they met. "She is your wife! Do something, anything, but remember that she is your wife! Make a decision!"

Peeta shot him an unreadable look. _She is my wife no longer. But I made a promise._

And if she couldn't give birth on ship, and only in the hut that doomed her…

Then he'd stand vigilant over her until their son finally slid free and both were no longer in danger.

"As she wants, then. As she wants," Peeta said, and he strode down the deck, paused briefly outside its entrance to look uncertainly over Prim, then stepped through the door into Katniss' birthing chamber.

* * *

She was standing against the far wall, her naked body drenched in sweat, her hands clasped about her belly, her loose hair tangled around her shoulders and over her breasts; the black against the olive tone of her skin was appealing. But Peeta could not see beyond the wild twist in her eye and the pain in the lines of her face, or the shaking in legs that barely supported her.

Worse, Katniss grimaced at him in greeting.

"Seems it will be you who did it, after all," she said, her voice hoarse.

It was a physical blow of pain across Peeta's face. Of course she meant the baby was killing her.

The baby he raped her to put in her.

"You'll have the baby," Peeta said. Just like the vision saw, in that hut. "And you'll live to see him."

Katniss merely nodded, her mouth twisting and her jaw clenching as another wave of contractions took her. "Peeta," Prim said, drawing to his side. "They're steering the ship to the nearest shore."

Alarm ripped through Katniss' expression. "Why!"

"So you can birth on land," Prim said. "Like me. It'll be safer there. I just know it!"

Katniss looked scared, her eyes roving over her sister's face, and then the tension left her, and what replaced her fear was resolve. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she nodded. "Alright. I'll go."

"Will it be safe?" Prim suddenly asked, turning to Peeta, whose eyes could not move from Katniss.

"Will you accept responsibility for it if not? For whatever consequences your demand spawns?"

Peeta whipped around to see Cato in the doorway. Peeta shook his head at his companion, but Prim took the man's words to heart. She turned about; calling the attention of the four other women in the cabin to her and asked them, "Will you bear witness? To tell everyone of my answer here."

They nodded.

"No, Prim…" Peeta tried to say.

"I will accept responsibility for whatever happens," Prim cut in. "If it means helping Katniss."

Katniss sobbed again, the force of that one bringing to her knees, and the women rushed to help her.

But this time she did not get back up, and Peeta knew that if he couldn't save her well…

_Then what's the point?_

_He'd be losing the gift of Seeder, countless promises, and possibly the only woman he'd ever loved._

* * *

"Where are we?" Peeta said to Finnick. "What do you know of this land?" He waved at the coast.

"I know it is a bad place to stop, Peeta. It is a fair land, but filled with an ugly people. It is called Poiteran, and its leader is a woman called Alma. Peeta, are you certain that you want to –"

"It's what she wants," Glimmer said, waving at Primrose on the aft deck aiding Katniss out of the cabin.

"When you say bad," Cato jumped in as well, "how bad do you mean?"

He glanced at Peeta and somehow he heard his thoughts: _Is it worth the risk to rid ourselves of Katniss?_

Perplexed at having taken the words right out of his friend's mind, Peeta hardly saw Finnick bite his lip in worry. "Alma has a people jealous of intruders and greedy for the spoils of war. They will attack first, and ask questions later and even then she usually will not be interested in the answer. Only leading."

"If her people were to attack, how many men might they command?" Peeta asked. Truly worried now.

Now Finnick shrugged. "If we were to land all our warriors, they would not attack."

"But to do that we'd need a landing spot for all our ships," Marvel pointed out.

"And you'll not find it along this coast," Annie said, speaking for the first time, and pulling both her arms around Finnick's waist. "By dusk we should reach the mouth of a wide river. We will be able to shelter the majority of the fleet in the mouth, and there is landing for, oh, some four or five ships."

Peeta looked worriedly at Glimmer and Cato (so determined to see this through), then nodded. "The river mouth then. Pray to Artemis that Katniss will give us some peace until we arrive, that there will be some shelter when we land, and that Alma will be shut away in her long halls for the night."

"There will be both shelter and swords," Glimmer said. "Prepare yourselves."

Then she turned, and stared down the ship toward the cabin in which Katniss moaned.

A cold smile lit her face.

* * *

By evening, as Peeta's fleet approached the mouth of a wide and gently flowing river, a strong northwesterly wind had risen, tossing the sea into whitecapped waves that thudded cold and heavy against the hulls of the ships. The captains had ordered the sails stowed and the oarsmen to their benches to dip and hold their oars against the prevailing wind so the ships would slowly come about into the sheltered mouth of the river.

Annie shrugged when Peeta looked at her oddly and he joined Cato, Finnick, and Glimmer by the stem post of their ship. All were wet with spray and shivering in the wind. "Where is it?" Peeta asked, looking out to sea rather than into the dim outline of the coast around the river mouth.

"What?" Glimmer and Finnick said together.

"Panem," said Peeta. "It is close, is it not?"

Finnick nodded, hugging Annie's gentle shoulders with his arms in an effort to keep warm. He looked to the northwest. "There, a day's sail if the weather is good, an eternity at the bottom of the cold gray witch sea if she turns against you. If it were noon, and the weather clear and still, you might even be able to see those white cliffs."

Peeta looked at Cato, tightening anticipation in his belly. "Tomorrow then, perhaps."

"Aye," said Cato, his teeth gleaming in the gloom, and the wind whipping his hair about his face, "but tonight we must collect your son."

Peeta glanced at the cabin, heavy with silence. "Annie, can we maneuver this ship close to shore?"

Everyone seemed surprised he addressed her with this question – and he supposes they should be. It is supposed to be Finnick who knows this land better than anyone. But Annie answered with ease and more knowledge than Finnick could: "Aye, these shores are kind, see? Shallow waters are protected by that headland. We can row in to a point not twenty paces from the shore, and then wade our way in."

"Do it," Peeta said to his captains, "and signal four other ships to accompany us, and the rest to weigh anchor in the shelter of the bay. Cato, arm our warriors. We will be ashore soon. And let's be prepared."

* * *

Katniss started and took a step back as Peeta entered the cabin, with Glimmer in tow. She looked far worse than she had earlier, her hair now completely matted to her head and neck, her rib cage rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths, her skin sallow and slick with sweat, her great belly protruding before her, red welts running across it as if Katniss had clawed at herself in her extremity. And her eyes were terrified and flat, staring at Glimmer from sunken flesh bruised with deep blue shadows.

There was hatred there, too, between the two women. "She can't come," Katniss snapped.

Peeta agreed to the command and Glimmer, looking wounded and disbelieving, stomped off.

"That was not nicely done," Prim murmured, petting Katniss arm.

Katniss looked to her sister, the hatred fading and her expression going blank. Peeta suspected she was hiding longing and pain, and grief. "You can't come either," Katniss told Prim. "Stay here."

Prim protested much (and loudly, and with tears), but Peeta had her restrained and escorted out by one of his soldiers. Katniss visibly relaxed once her sister was gone, her limbs trembling, and she let out a moan. All her defiance had fled hours ago. She was readying to die, and it made Peeta feel sick.

"Well?" Peeta said to Lavinia, hoping for a status.

"It will not be long," Lavinia said, her voice sounding almost as exhausted Katniss looked.

"Whatever happens, it will not be long now," Joanna agreed.

Peeta took a deep breath, and Jo looked at him sharply, wondering why it had trembled in his throat.

"Cover her with a cloak," he said, and it was done, Jo quickly bundling her up with her own color convection. "Can you walk?" Peeta asked, and when she shook her head he held his arms out to Katniss.

Though pregnant she felt lighter than air as Peeta cradled her in his arms. Katniss murmured in his ear, "I don't want Joanna with me, either. But she will not go at my command." A pause, then: "_Please_."

She did not have to add the please. "Joanna, go find Prim and comfort her."

The woman looked as wounded as Glimmer, and clenched her fists. "I will not be shooed like a child!"

Peeta paused on his way to the door. "You want me to allow you to come and risk your life in this foolish misadventure? I will not! I treasure my friendship with Finnick too much to allow that." His eyes flickered to the other midwives – he had to take at least one. "Lavinia will accompany us."

Then he walked out.

Lavinia narrowed her eyes at Peeta's back, resentful that Peeta was willing to risk her where he was not willing to risk Joanna. Joanna herself had to be dragged unwilling by two soldiers to be restrained in the same cabin Primrose was currently wailing to be free of – Lavinia would have gladly been left out after this dreadful day spent trying to make Katniss' childbirth as painless as possible.

She felt that if Peeta decided to take the child by force, she would hand him the knife herself.

* * *

There were some thirty or thirty-five armed men cloaked and wrapped against the cold, standing at the side of the ship. Peeta was there, Katniss in his arms, and Lavinia and the two other midwives moved dutifully to his side. They stood for an immeasurable moment, waiting, as he stared in the distance.

It was full night now, and the coast line loomed large and threatening in the dark.

"All will be well," he whispered to Katniss, then, nodding at the other men, he stepped over the side of the ship and dropped into the shallow water. The landing barely jarred him, and nothing jarred her at all.

But the water did splash up and over them, and even though Lavinia knew she, too, shortly would be up to her thighs in the freezing water, she could not help but smile at the sound of Katniss' shocked cry.

On the deck Cato stepped forward to help the midwives down. Lavinia climbed down a rope ladder set against the hull, dropping the final few feet into the water. Gods, but it was cold! She gritted her teeth, hugged the dry portions of her cloak closer about her, and looked ahead.

Already, Peeta was little more than a black hulk on the beach standing against the slightly less black night sky. He had yet to put Katniss down, she saw, and scowled at that. Katniss would not have to crawl her way to shore against the tugging water, despite that this trip was for _her_.

There were splashes about her as the other midwives and the warriors jumped into the water. Thirty paces distant, additional warriors dropped from several other ships, and Lavinia clenched her jaw, and set about wading toward the dim shoreline. It was a long, hard, and viciously cold wade, and by the time Lavinia reached the shore, she hated Katniss like she had never hated anyone before.

* * *

They huddled together twenty paces in front the waterline under the shelter of a group of wind-blasted and barely leaved trees. Most of them were shivering by now, as Peeta spoke quickly, ordering the majority of the warriors, perhaps numbering one hundred and fifty, to fan out about them.

He still held tight to Katniss, who was moaning incessantly now, her hands clenching, then releasing where they gripped Peeta's cloak. She sagged against him, but he gave no sign of weakening.

"We must hurry," Lavinia said to him, "if you do not want your child born on this beach."

Peeta began to order several of the remaining warriors to search for shelter, but Cato, shivering so badly that Lavinia thought he looked as if he were in labor himself, interrupted him. "It is that way," Cato said, pointing to a small rise some forty or fifty paces away. "On the sheltered side of the hill."

His eyes were cold, and so bland they shone almost silver in the faint light.

Peeta stared at Cato, and then his face became dark, and Cato smiled, bright and eager, as Katniss began twisting in pain again. For the first time, Lavinia felt a twist of unease. _What goes on here?_

Beside her, Finnick murmured in concern.

The soil was sandy, soft, and hard on calves. Lavinia found herself panting within paces of starting up the slope of the hill, the sodden portions of her cloak and robe twisting about her legs so that, on several occasions, she fell over. But every time she fell Finnick stepped forward, aiding her to rise.

At the top of the hill Lavinia looked down, and almost sobbed with relief. There was a small hut not thirty paces away; little more than a lean-to, it had wicker walls, branches and the tattered remnants of matting as a roof, and a bleak gap to serve as a door. Humble as it was, the hut would keep most of the wind out, and it looked reasonably dry, and for that Lavinia thought she would offer sacrifice to the gods as soon as she was able. Peeta, already pulling open the hut door, Katniss in hand, called out to Lavinia, and she rushed forward, calling out herself, to the other midwives who'd been lagging behind.

* * *

There was little in the hut save a cold hearth in the center of the packed dirt floor, and a raised bed of turf and rushes against the far wall. Peeta carefully laid Katniss onto the bed, where she instantly rolled her back to them, and drew her knees up to her belly in agony. Peeta murmured something to her, and Lavinia knew it had to be sweet because of his tortured expression, but the words were waste.

Katniss had stopped listening.

"There is a lamp," said Cato, "I will light it."

Peeta motioned Lavinia and the other midwives inside – they hastened immediately to where Katniss lay curled about her belly on the bed – then he walked to the door. He drew his sword and Lavinia felt her chest tighten in fear at the fierce look in his blue eyes. "Stay here, Cato," Peeta said, then was gone.

Cato's teeth gleamed in the first sputtering light of the lamp. "Oh, aye."

* * *

Lavinia had not liked the sight of their exchange at all. She looked at the other women, who returned her look with wide-eyed fear, then turned back to Katniss. By rights Katniss should be squatting to deliver her child, but Lavinia held no hopes of being able to get Katniss off this bed.

Well, if she wanted to give birth lying down, then she would just have to endure the additional suffering in the doing. So without any gentleness in their hands, Lavinia and another midwife grabbed Katniss' knees, rolled her onto her back, and forced her legs up and apart, and Katniss complied.

Lavinia gave a great sigh of relief. "Look, the baby's head crowns."

"It must have turned in the cold water!" squealed the third midwife, delighted.

_And if I'd known cold water would help so much_, Lavinia thought, _I would have dropped Katniss overboard long before this._

A shout from outside rouse, then a bloodcurdling war cry, and a clash of sword against sword.

Lavinia and the two midwives glanced fearfully at each other, but Cato merely grinned. "It begins," he said, and Lavinia wondered at what she had been caught up in, and whether she would survive it at all.

The woman beside Lavinia whimpered, glancing apprehensively toward the open door. Lavinia herself was growing more and more concerned, especially remembering Peeta's reluctance to allow the nobler Joanna to come ashore, but she also knew that if they succumbed to their fear now, then it might well be the death of them. She gave her companion a sharp pinch to bring her mind back to the task at hand, then reached between Katniss' legs to place a hand on her belly, giving the girl a reassuring pat.

"It will not be long," she said, "but now, when the pain comes, you will need to bear down."

Just then another contraction did begin, and Katniss writhed on the bed, gripping her sides with strain.

Cato smiled.

The sound of fighting drew much closer, and everyone within the hut tensed, looking to the door. They could see bodies silhouetted against the faint starlight outside now, struggling, the blades of swords and knives flashing, sometimes clean, sometimes dulled with blood. Shouts rang from everywhere.

_Soon…Soon… _Cato thought.

Katniss' concentration suddenly snapped and she screamed, once, her body almost lifting off the bed with the strength of her agony, and Lavinia was shouting at her to _bear down! bear down! _While the other women were no longer at the bedside at all, but had scuttled on her hands and knees to the door as if seeking escape, and disappeared in the night, leaving Cato, Lavinia, and Katniss alone.

The fighting drew much, much closer, and Cato, still watching — eyes wide, mouth open, breath panting in the extremity of his own excitement — could plainly now make out the features of those who fought. The attackers, Alma's people, fought stark naked, their hairy bodies daubed with blue clay, their faces strangely tattooed in blue-black ink, and their genitals stained with some black substance.

They were a monstrous people, and when Cato saw Katniss glimpse one, he enjoyed her fear.

As Cato watched, one of the Poiterans suddenly screamed in the midst of battle, his sword dropping from nerveless fingers as the blade of a Trojan sword emerged from his belly, and killed him.

At that precise moment, the baby slithered from Katniss' body in time to a final, brutal scream from its mother; Lavinia gave a triumphant yell. And one of the midwives, who had fled moment before, came running back to the hut in hopes of protection, and she was just entering the doorway… when she was impaled on the sword of the gigantic Poiteran who had just stepped through the opening.

His fierce eyes fixed on Cato, the Poiteran, a monstrously huge man caked in dried blue clay, put his hand to the dying, screaming woman's shoulder, and pushed her off his sword. Lavinia watch in terror as she fell on the floor, hands to her belly, her mouth open in now-silent shrieks, convulsed, and died.

Cato gave one glance to the bed – a baby boy lay in Lavinia's reach, his arms and legs waving weakly, his tiny face screwed up with the injustice of his barbaric entry into the world; Lavinia's free hand scrambled to cut the umbilical cord while she nonetheless stared (horrified) at the Poiteran who had now taken one farther step toward Cato; while Katniss was trying to raise herself up, to reach down to the child, oblivious of everything but it.

Cato looked back to the Poiteran who towered only a pace away.

"Kill her," he said, throwing his chin Katniss' way. "Kill her now."

The Poiteran looked at the woman and the child, hefted his sword, but before he could swing, or move, Peeta blundered into the hut, brandishing his own weapon and came at the blue-man. "Cato!" Peeta cried as he parried and blocked and then dove – only to miss. "Get them out and to the ship!"

Cato didn't move.

"Cato!"

Peeta fought hard with the blue-man, until he finally cut a slash on the man's chest, distracting him. Heaving, Peeta thrust a final time and the sword cut open the Poiteran's throat. Ripped his weapon free, uncaring of the blood that stained his face on the withdrawal and the _thud_ of the body, and Peeta whirled on Cato, fuming. "_You think to disobey me!"_ he shouted. "Get out of my sight!"

When Cato did not move, but merely raised an eyebrow at his prince Peeta loomed closer. Something in him changed. Not just within the hard lines of Peeta's face, or the set of his arms, but something internal changed in Peeta and Cato saw and felt the change as if physically. Whatever it was it seemed to dim the light in the hut and the starlight beyond, and Cato could not look away from his blue eyes.

Fear filled Cato, and where Peeta seemed just a man before, now seemed a true Hades indeed.

"Get out or I will make sure you spend eternity within my realm, burning, for what you've tried to do!"

Cato turned, tripped on his footing, scrambled to his feet again, and ran out into the night.

And he did not stop running once he hit the beach, he ran passed Trojan men, and into the trees.

He ran until he was lost in the wilderness, and could hear Alma's people more than his own.

He ran that night, and Peeta thought to never see Cato's face ever again.

* * *

I think that in everyone's lives there is one moment, just that one single moment, where something happens that is so shocking, so profoundly extraordinary, that your life forever is changed.

For me that moment was when my son finally fought his way free of my body. After all the hatred and savageness of the past months, and most particularly of the preceding day – leading up to my death –, to have that child battle his way into life from my body was the most joyous moment of my entire life.

I loved him instantly, simply, and unconditionally. The way I loved my little sister, Primrose.

I — _I_ — had produced this!

How could I ever have not wanted him? How could I ever have said I loathed and resented him? At that very moment I was so full of overwhelming love that I swear that I also loved the man who had put him inside me (and at that thought I also wondered if my wits had been totally addled by the pain).

At much as I didn't want to admit it, all that Jo and Lavinia had said to me was true.

The instant he was born, and I could see what I had made, I adored him.

If I'd had the strength, I would have pushed up and snatched my son from Lavinia's arms and put him to my breast, but as it was all I could do was try to reach down between my legs to touch my child.

I was aware of the fighting the moment it started, and I was aware of Peeta in the doorway, still fighting off the strange blue people who still surged and surrounded the hut, and I was aware that Lavinia was sobbing, terrified, and probably loathed me for putting her in this situation… but I knew all that in a detached sort of way. The way a person who knows death is coming for them and does not care.

I decided I would get up and fight, or defend myself once I had at least one touch of my child. I could say farewell to the world after that, surely. I had already said my love to Prim. So I did. I reached down and touched his downy shoulder with one finger, and a breath of ragged emotion burst from my lungs.

Something whistled through the air where an instant before my shoulders had been, burying itself in the bed behind me, but I barely turned to see Peeta slaughter the offending sword-swinger. I leaned farther forward, disregarding the pain it caused my body, and ran my hand over my son's head, savoring it.

Lavinia was still screaming about something, and suddenly, Peeta spoke to her – I could not discern his words, but she must have, because she began nodding and helped him pull me to my feet. It hurt, a lot, and I screwed my jaw too tight to scream, and let the robe hide my ravish nakedness. I leaned heavily into Lavinia, despite my wish to be able to move on my own, and Peeta moved in an arch in front of us.

I realized we were surrounded by men, and I slid one arm around Lavinia's shoulder, hers around my waist, while my other hand did not stray from my son's head. He had golden ringlets, bright little wisps.

Somehow we made it out of the hut. I came to this conclusion when I felt sandy soil underneath my bare feet and I could barely make out the dancing, fighting figures all around us with the moon so thin.

Lavinia was shaking violently against me. She kept shouting to Peeta, whom was still leading us forward, cutting down men in our ways, double back when ones threatened to come at us from the sides. At this point he was covered in blood, and some smears of half-dried blue clay, and I felt a piece of myself grow grateful for the immense effort he put forth and for one tiny moment – felt hope!

Then, Lavinia stopped dragging my weight forward. I looked up to see the red-haired woman's eyes glued on a distant fallen figure in the sand, and when she shouted "Pelopan!" the name of her husband, she shoved the baby into my arms, let go of me – so that I fell to my knees – and ran to aid him.

I didn't bother shouting at Lavinia's back, but worked on properly cradling the infant in my arms, and not slumping over in the sand. "Shush," I murmured to the boy, and, oh, hear his cries! "Shush…"

Then someone grabbed my hair.

* * *

Everything changed. Abruptly, my senses came back, and I could open my eyes wider, to see what was happening about me: men everywhere fought, blue and naked, or Trojan and darkly cloaked, moving as if shadows around me, but too close for comfort… so close I could smell the blood and the cold metal of their blades, and hear the wet, final breaths of those wounded and on the ground. I could hear Peeta's voice, somewhere far ahead, and he was frantic and – I could tell – scared, calling for _me_.

I heard a voice singing from the ships and knew, strangely, that it was Annie.

There was a man behind me, holding me by my hair, and he stank fouler even than that of the spilled bowels in the sand a few feet to my left. His cruel twist of my head reminded me oddly of when I was dragged through the palace in Mesopotamia to meet Peeta, our conqueror. But I knew better.

I knew I would not be taken to this savage people's leader. I was very likely about to die.

Still, perhaps strangely, this did not particularly perturb me. What little hope that had been stirred, fell away, and I only wanted to push my son into someone else's arms before I fell over, dead. But I twisted my face, and looked anyway. Because if I was honest with myself, I didn't want to roll over and give in.

I was not that type of person.

The great naked hulk of a man loomed behind me. His body – ugh! What a hairy gut he had! – was caked thickly with this blue clay I can see on all the other savages. His face was a messy web of close-woven black-inked lines, his eyes wild and staring from their midst. His genitals, wobbling on a level close with my eyes, looked as though they'd been tattooed completely black. They smelt diseased.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and out of the corner of my eyes, saw him raise a blood-daubed sword on high. His mouth parted, and his teeth gleamed. Peeta was screaming in the background.

And I snapped. I'd simply had enough. This day had been bad enough without this disgusting hulk trying to murder me. I raised my hand, so recently on my son's head, and grabbed the monster by a man's softest spot; below the belt, to be sure. Then, infuriated with everything from Glimmer's vision of my death, Clove, and all trouble recently caused, I yanked the repulsive member as hard as I could.

At once, the man screeched, his sword dropping from his hand. He half doubled over, his eyes popping, his mouth open and making funny gasping sounds. I pulled again, really viciously this time, and the man toppled over, and fell directly on top of another man lying face-first, screaming, in the sand.

On shaking legs, I stood, no longer dwarfed by the men all around me and, by emerging from the place where I had been hidden from sight, Peeta, Finnick, and Marvel spotted me from where they stood.

Only one semi-hysterical sound managed to escape me, before Peeta and the men broke a path to me, and approached. I moved to meet them, my steps heavy, but surefooted. I held our son out for Peeta's reaching hands, his sword now back in its scabbard, and when the infant settled in those hands…

That's when it happened.

Behind me a fierce cry of utter joy rose, raising the hair on the back of my neck and arms, and chilling me, so much so, that I barely felt the sword that buried itself in my back and burst through my stomach.

Pain like I had never known coursed through me. The warrior at my back twisted the sword, crowing with delight at the shock on all the men's faces who stood frozen in horror at my front, then jerked it to one side, spilling blood rapidly down my legs to pool in the sand. I felt my face fall.

I saw Peeta's face crumble in a mixture of failure, guilt, and grief, before Finnick took the baby from his arms, and Marvel flung himself at the warrior at my back, killing him in one blow. As he died the blue-man let go of the sword, left protruding from my midriff, and I felt a cold sweep through my legs and pull me to the ground. But Peeta lunged forward and caught me before I could hit the sand.

Blood was everywhere. On my hand, on his, all over him. It was I could smell and feel on my skin as Peeta struggled to get a non-slippery hold my body, without further moving the sword. He was shouting at someone to bring a healer, but I could see Finnick shaking his head beyond Peeta's shoulder.

There was no fixing me.

I tried to say something – something reassuring… probably that I didn't hate him at all, so he knew, but all that came out of my mouth was a sputtering of blood, that rolled over my lips and down my chin.

"No, no, no," Peeta was saying, wiping the blood from my face. He was crying, I realized in horror. I'd never seen him cry. Not the prince and heir of Troy, not a god. "I promised, I'm so sorry. I promised."

_So did I, _I thought, faintly, before I took one last grappling breath, and died.

* * *

Peeta roared when the body of his wife went limp in his arms.

At that point the battle on the beach had dwindled, largely thanks to enforcement that jumped from the ships and scared the blue-men off, and those last few stranglers fled at the sound of Peeta's shout. It was no normal shout, surely, and it filled his men with fear and foreboding.

Finnick, holding the still screaming new-born, warded off the soldiers who meant to confront their shouting, incoherent general, and he watch Peeta sink to the ground, clutching Katniss' body out the corner of his eye.

Peeta started shouting words, and without warning, when Finnick turned fully around he saw Annie there next to the two. Finnick blinked. He hadn't seen Annie climb up the beach, or out of the boat.

Peeta was saying something to her, fast and stumbled, and Annie shrugged, then started shaking.

Peeta threw back his head and shouted again, less roar, more a name.

And suddenly there was a third figure there, a hulking dark-skinned man, who scowled down at Peeta.

Peeta had Katniss curled protectively into his chest and craned his head back to meet the dark-skinned man's eyes since he was so tall. _A god? _Finnick wondered. The men hushed, trying to hear their words.

"What is it you want?" the newly arrived man thundered. He glanced around at the beach in distaste, then his eyes fell on Annie and he frowned. "What have you two gotten into and why call me?"

_Annie knows this man? _Finnick wondered, patting the infant now, to silence it. _And Peeta, too?_

Peeta spoke too quietly for any of the surrounding men to hear.

Just as Annie had done, the large man shrugged at what Peeta had asked.

"Do you two know nothing!?" Peeta shouted; the first coherent thing his soldiers could hear.

Finnick finally broke passed the line he had been pacing, not trying to get involved, but once Peeta started to yell at Annie he strutted their way, jaw clenched, and infant clutched to his chest. "Peeta!" he called. Annie and the man looked up, but Peeta didn't even turn his head. He muttered something else.

That time Annie had an answer. "You only have to think of a haven and it will take you."

"That's all it takes?" Peeta asked, uncertain.

The large man grunted. "It's true."

Finnick was nearer now, almost standing at their sides. Clove enough to hear that last exchange of words and to make out the freckles he so loved on Annie's shoulders. He could see Peeta screw his eyes shut, and cling to Katniss extra tight, clearly concentrating. And just before he reached them…

They were gone.

Annie and the man were still there, but Peeta and Katniss' corpse had dissipated from sight.

What was left of them was the warrior's sword, and a pool of Katniss' blood.

"Where'd they go?" Finnick said, looking to the two left. "Where'd they go? How..?"

"He means to save her," the big man said, and shrugged his lumber shoulders. "A waste, I'd say."

"He loves her, Thresh," Annie replied, certain, but her voice small. "He'll forget Clove."

Thresh smiled, showing blindingly white teeth. "Aye, that's the one good thing out of this."

"Annie?" Finnick said, cautiously. But she turned to look up at this Thresh god-man.

"Do you think his plan will work?" she asked.

Thresh boomed with laughter. "Why, he's the god of _death_. Of course it'll work!"

"Peeta isn't the god of death," Marvel said, stepping up, clearly bewildered.

"Oh?" Thresh looked over the approaching men closely. "I suppose he didn't want to tell you."

"Tell us what!" shouted a soldier.

"What I've just told you," Thresh said, impatient. "Peeta is the new Hades; ruler of the Underworld. I wouldn't advise you wait out here in the cold for him, as he's just commuted home, and I'd urge you to board your ships, but what do I know?" He flashed a smile at Annie. "I'm just the new Zeus."

And before any could process his words, he dissipated as well.

Annie stared after him for a long while.

"Annie?" Finnick took a tentative step toward her and touched her hand. "What's going on?"

"I have to go now," she whispered, and before he could protest his fingers fell through her hand and she was gone. All of them had dissipated out of thin air, - if not arrived that way – and the once shouting crowd of soldiers stood completely still; too stunned to speak, god-struck, surely, by their presence.

When Finnick recovered from a gut wrenching pain – caused by disappointment surging deep in him telling him he may not see such a beautiful and wondrous woman again – he turned and took command.

Thus he found himself leading a trudge of Trojans to their fleet, an infantile prince of Troy in his arms.

* * *

Peeta had clung onto Katniss, doing just what Annie and Thresh had advised. He had asked them how he could enter his own domain, the Underworld, and they told him to concentrate on a haven, a safe place, a home, and despite himself… he could not think of an underworld haven. When he thought of a safe place he thought of lying with Katniss late at night, counting her breaths, or that night in the hills when she had sung to him and pet his hair and allowed him a kiss.

Gods, he didn't want to lose her.

She was already dead, he knew. He'd felt it the moment the life faded entirely from her, and she had slumped into his chest. But he also knows what he'd done… what he'd done… "Oh gods," he said, – ignoring how ironic and strange it was to pray to himself – "you can't die. You hear me? You can't!"

When Cato had stood there, watching as one of the savages closed in on Katniss, Peeta had never felt angrier or more betrayal in his life, and yet, he had given Cato another chance when he asked his old friend to get the women and the new born out of the hut safely – and again, Cato declined.

And when Peeta had spared him again for that, Cato defied him by not leaving his sight.

Angrier than he'd ever been, scared, and overcome with the sounds of closing in enemies around the hut, he had done something… unintentionally… or not? He didn't know he was going to do it, but once it started he dove right for it and did not stop, because he knew he needed the strength…

In those moments… he had been so tempted to turn to the bands and his other half for strength and the ability to block out the stinging pain that came with Cato's betrayal – and he also knew they could dull his fear – but he had not succumbed. In a fit of effort, he had reached for the power, on instinct, thinking he could not save her otherwise, but something strong in him wretched away and… diverted.

Using his weak gift of Hades he established a source of power somewhere else. Not in the bands, which were already a source of power for the god of poison. A new one, and it was no god well – as that was the kind of power source that made a god immortal – but it was strong, he knew, and he resonated with the object in which he diverted towards.

Object? No. Katniss was much more than that – friend, love, ex-wife, mother of his son.

And now, his source of power.

Or was… for that brief space of time before a sword buried itself in her back.

As he concentrated on her, on his haven, he heard the sound of the beach and the crowd fade away. The sand underneath him turned hard and solid, and when he opened his eyes he was not in the Underworld.

He was in the stone hall, the one from his wretched dream with the archways and gold dome roof.

Katniss' blood smeared the white marble floor as Peeta carefully laid her out, his mind running frantic, and he straightened her arms at her side and made her legs perfectly straight and closer her dull eyes.

Behind him someone approached, but Peeta didn't turn to see who or why. He placed one large hand over the gaping hole in Katniss' midriff, closed his eyes, and concentrated. On what? He wasn't sure.

"Let me help you," said a soft, girlish voice, and two small hands slid over Peeta's.

He opened his eyes to see Rue, the small, big brown eyed girl he'd seen at the last Enlightened meeting.

"You can fix her?" Peeta asked, his voice cracking.

"I can heal her body, yes," Rue said, softly, and surely as she spoke, her hands moved over the wound and Peeta could see Katniss' body begin to mend itself. "But I can't restore her soul." Rue glanced up at him; sweet and innocent somehow even with her hands wrist deep in blood. "You can, though."

"I can?"

"You're the God of the Underworld, Peeta," Rue said. "All souls go to you for judgment."

"How do I…" Peeta took a long breath. "How do I restore it in her body?"

"I can't know." Rue frowned, and looked truly sorry. "Just concentrate. It took me a long while to figure out how to use my gifts once I established a source of power… it took a lot of concentration."

"But I don't have one now… I did briefly, and I felt all the power, I did… it was almost too much…"

"What happened to the source? Was it a god well? Is it in a safe place now? You have to be careful when you do that, Peeta. A wrongly placed or ill made source of power can kill a careless god."

"I know." He knew that better than most, knowing what he did to Hades. "It was her."

"Her? You used a person as your power source?"

Peeta stroked the side of Katniss' face and nodded glumly.

Rue looked surprised. "It takes great love to do that," she said, matter of fact.

"I suppose I love her then."

"I suppose…" Rue finished healing Katniss' body then, and drew back, sitting on her heels. She had not known what Peeta was doing appearing in this hall…. _Does he know where he is? Had he known she was here?_ … Rue shook her head to clear it. "She's as good as new once she has her soul."

Peeta nodded, closed his eyes and concentrated but Rue made a squeak of protest. "How do you expect it to work if you've no power source? She's dead, so now your one power source is gone. To make another… well it isn't supposed to be an easy and instant thing… and I don't know how she became your power source so briefly, but that was a onetime thing, and…" she trailed off.

Peeta frowned. "Is it possible for me to retain some power? Cause I can feel it still. I had enough to come here after she died – wherever here is – and I can still feel power coming to me, weak, but there."

"That's impossible."

"Well I feel it," Peeta said, pulling his hand to Katniss' heart, and he leaned over her. "And I will try."

Rue let him try all he wanted. And try he did. He did a great many things; holding her hands, pressing both to her chest and heart, cradling her face, murmuring prayers, singing a song to her under his breath, and outright begging. But nothing seemed to work in his favor, and Rue stood to stretch her legs, wandering down the length of the endless hall of archways, peering into some as she passed.

She had only been here once before this time, and it had been at Seeder's invitation, and considering it was Seeder's domain it was not that surprising to be invited the by Seeder. But, to Rue's disappointment, and suspicion, when she got Seeder's mental call/invitation minutes before Peeta showed up, it had been distinctively weak.

In fact, Seeder sounded pained.

Rue gasped, and then called out, "Seeder? Where are you?"

She did not expect Seeder to come strutting out one of the archways. Actually if Rue's theory was correct Seeder would be doubled over somewhere in pain, barely holding on. Worried she may be correct Rue began to check each archway frantically, calling out Seeder's name in her mind.

"What are you doing?" Peeta called to Rue down the length of the stone hall.

Rue turned on her toes, caught, and deliberated to tell him. "I think I figured it out."

"Figured out what?"

"What Seeder has been up to for these past months, and what you meant about still getting a little."

"Well, out with it," Peeta said, eager to listen.

Rue lifted an arm and pointed at Katniss lying motionless on the floor. "Her!"

Peeta put up a front of patience and said, "We already established I put my source in her…"

"Yes, yes," Rue said. "But so did Seeder!"

Peeta double took. "Is that possible?"

"I don't know. But it has to be true. Clove has been searching for Seeder's source of power for months now, and she hasn't been able to find it, because Seeder hid it right underneath Clove's nose! Right there, at your side, even!" Rue laughed happily at that – as she did not like Clove and adored Seeder.

Peeta looked over at Katniss, and his gut twisted. _So that must be why Clove hated her instinctively…_

"Seeder called me here, to her domain, minutes ago… probably right when the sword went through Katniss, and I had been waiting for Seeder when you appeared. Right there, holding Katniss' limp form and I knew I had to heal her. That I was called here just so I could heal her."

"Then where's Seeder?" Peeta asked, looking about, and looking lost.

"Weak," Rue admitted. "She probably used the last of her strength calling out for me, and is just barely clinging to life. Katniss was her power source for more than a few minutes, evidently, and the blow will have crippled her… if not is currently killing her. But so long as she's still here… I think you get some of her power, too. And that you give her some power as well. I'm not sure how it would work, but since Katniss was her source and a piece of Katniss held Seeder inside her… and then you fit yourself inside Katniss as well, when you made her your power source, yours and Seeder's pieces must have meddled."

"Should that worry me?"

This time Rue shrugged. "It may be just what saved Seeder from instant death."

"It did," said a voice farther down the hall. The fey dark goddess, Seeder, leaned into a few archways away, holding her stomach as if she were the one stabbed. "And it's time to restore her and us, to full power." Her deep brown eyes found Peeta's. "I can teach you how to call back a soul."

"I would be immensely grateful," said Peeta, and Seeder moved slowly to his side.

Rue watched Seeder whisper in Peeta's ear, for what seemed like hours, until he nodded.

"Katniss Everdeen," Peeta whispered, the push of his words hissing through his teeth, and his hands snaked up to cup Katniss' pale face, tip it forward… and slowly, _slowly_, he leaned down to kiss her.

Another eternity passed with Peeta hunched over her, his lips moving over hers, as if he was speaking.

_Was he?_ Rue wondered.

Then, as he drew back, a gasp tore its way through the corpse's lungs and Peeta cried out in triumph.

Katniss' eyes opened, stared up at the golden domed roof and blinked a few times. "Katniss?"

She looked to Peeta, then squinted at him, examining his face closely… his eyes…

"Peeta?" she whispered.

"I'm here. It's me, the real me." Peeta's hand on her cheek stroked a thumb down her jaw. _And as long as you're always with me, or alive, than I will always be this me, because this is more power than I'll ever need – you._ But he declined to share that with her just yet; he didn't think telling her he loved her would make her very happy, nor should it be the first thing he said to someone who just woke from the dead… at least, not Katniss; she was an entirely different kind of woman than any other, and he knew she did not return his affections… and the last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel as though she owed him, and least of all owed him false affection, in return for him bringing her back to life.

_With help, _he reminded himself, then looked to Seeder and Rue. He smiled. "Thank you, for everything."

"Of course," Rue said, smiling back. "I have tried to contact you before, but Clove always refused."

"Many of us have tried," Seeder agreed.

(And if Peeta in a clearer state, the fact that Clove did that would have upset him.)

Katniss sat up further, blood stained clothes clinging to her body, and she looked about, wide-eyed. "I've been here before, in a dream," she said, then looked to Seeder. "Am I dead?"

"No," Rue said happily. "I healed you, and then Peeta gave you back your soul."

Katniss stared at Rue for a moment, concern in her eyes, and then she looked to Peeta. "My soul?"

"It's a long story that surely he can tell you back on the ship, where your son awaits your return," Seeder put in, smoothly. With each second that passed she looked stronger. (And Peeta glowed with a power that made Katniss afraid to touch him, not for fear for herself, but in a revered sort of awe.) "And Peeta," Seeder continued, "I believe you have a great many question to answer for your people. They'll want to know about this little incident," she nodded to Katniss. "And how it's possible."

"I'm not even sure it's possible," Katniss said, then shook her head and looked to Peeta, and the love he saw in her eyes pulled at his heartstrings – until he realized the love was not for him: "I need to go back, to see him. Oh, he's safe isn't he? I put him in your hands just before it happened. You saw him?"

"I saw him. Finnick has him now. He's got a strong set up lungs, I know that."

Katniss' smile broke over her face like a sun – he never saw her smile like this unless it was at Prim.

"He does, doesn't he?" she said. "He's got your curls."

Peeta touched his hair briefly and chuckled – the relief was still washing over him. To see her so alive and to be moving… and the power that sung to him off of her skin and rolled off of her and _into_ him, well it made him feel more alive than he ever had. The power flowed in his veins and his heart and threatened to brim over, but he eased into it, and it tasted slightly like the color black and what he would expect the power of the Underworld to feel like – but it also felt, smelt, and tasted like _her_.

"Let's just hope he has your eyes," Peeta finally said, and offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

"You can get back?" Rue asked. "With her in tow? Bringing another is trying…"

Peeta nodded; he was certain he could, somehow. "I have her," he said, and then they were gone.

* * *

Then, so strangely, another of those once in a lifetime life-altering moments came at me, just when I thought I would never have another. I woke in that wondrous stone hall where my dreams resided and when I opened my eyes – the sequence of my death running through my head in clipped images – there was Peeta, blue eyes red from tears, and blonde curls disheveled from battle. But there he was!

_And I was supposed to be dead!_

I didn't really understand what happened, but I knew two things: I was alive, and I was alive because of Peeta and that small brown eyed girl who had been kneeling at my side when I awoke. Seeder was there as well, and I knew she had a part to play, though I knew not what – and it didn't matter.

I was alive, and that's what mattered to me.

All I wanted to do was find Prim and my son and my niece and hold onto them.

So I stood and took Peeta's hand and, not sure what I expected, a light feeling washed over me and my stomach dropped to my feet, making me feel sick, but when Peeta dropped my hand, a cold coastal breeze ran up the side of my face and through my hair. "You can open your eyes now," Peeta said.

I hesitated, letting my other sense tell me where I am; I felt the sand between my toes, and tasted salt in my lungs, and heard the shouts of nearby Trojans who had not spotted us yet. "I feel…"

"Rue healed you," Peeta said. "It is perhaps you have never been this healthy in your life."

_But it's more than that, _I knew. _I feel… _What was it I was feeling? Elation? A rush from dying and then being brought back? Was this related to the birth of my son? I couldn't decide. Only that I felt…

Powerful; that's the best word to describe it. Not powerful, really, but refresh and fortified, somehow.

And then she opened her eyes and elation fell in dread.

Men, Trojans as well as more of those blue-clayed naked savages, lay in various poses of death, limbs hacked off, bellies peeled open and spilled over, throats opened to steam in the cold air scattered across the shore where the battle had occurred. I saw faces I knew, men who had died that I might give birth to my son. Idaeus, one of Peeta's advisors, his entire body torn apart by several sword strokes.

And beside his corpse, moaning quietly was Lavinia's husband, Pelopan. He would be dead soon, for there was a gaping wound in his left flank through which blood spurted, and his left arm had been severed completely below the elbow. I knew then why Lavinia had left me, and I could see her there, crouched at his side, holding his remaining hand and muttering fast, fleeting prayers.

And all to what purpose did these men die? For me to give birth, only? And also to die?

But I was alive, and all these men weren't, and that'll surely anger many among the Trojans to see that.

* * *

Peeta led me slowly down the beach, not once letting me step very far from his side, and his eyes sweeping the area around us constantly. Was he paranoid now? The idea was more amusing than concerning.

On the shore sat one single raft – why had they taken one out? We couldn't stay long, not after what had happened… though of course, they needed to take care of the dead… and must have wondered where their leader went and if he would return. But the closer Peeta and I got, stepping away from the trees now and cutting straight through the throngs of the dying and dead, no one looked to us.

"What is this? They can't see us?" I asked, my brow creasing. "Are you doing this?"

Peeta gave me a cautious, playful smile. "I was only trying something, having some fun. Sorry."

And I knew whatever Peeta was trying stopped when a nearby soldier's eyes rested on us and he raised a shout; that was echoed and sent one man running toward the raft. On the raft sat Primrose, tears running down her face, as she cradled two infants in her arms. I could also just make out Marvel spitting accusations at her, telling her to take responsibility as Cato had said she should. Finnick had his arm around Prim's shaking shoulders and tried to defend her.

* * *

I tore away from Peeta, and sprinted through the sand toward them.

Stunned faces followed me as I passed.

"Prim!" All those on the raft looked up – among them; Glimmer, Finnick, Marvel, and Prim – at the sound of my voice, and drew back in surprise at the sight of me. Prim rose and met me at a step and I pulled her and the babies into my chest, then glared at Marvel over her shoulder. "If you wish to blame someone, than blame me. It was for me we stopped so I may give birth, so it is with me the blame lays."

Marvel just stared at me, as he had been there for my death, and killed my murderer himself and was too shocked to respond – but Glimmer who had only heard the death from others scowled willfully. "Well then, accept the responsibility! Look about you at the death you have wrought." Glimmer threw an arm at the beach. "See the lives you have destroyed. While here you stand, untouched!"

"Untouched, to be sure," Finnick murmured, eyeing me. "How is this?"

"Because it is my will," Peeta said, finally reaching the group. His voice seemed deeper, and in the depth were secrets, deep and narrow and twisting, and I shuddered along with everyone else.

"So that Thresh man spoke true," Finnick said. "You're what once Hades was. As he is Zeus."

"If you want to think of it that way, but every person – I've learned – takes power differently. A power changes to fit into a person, not the other way around. If it is the other way around it's unstable and can eventually break the holder." I thought of Annie as he said that I wondered if Finnick suspected.

Speaking of which… "Where is Annie?" I asked.

"She left when Peeta and that Thresh did. She did not tell me where she was going. What is she?"

"Poseidon," Prim piped up, surprising both Peeta and I. She smiled, bashful. "I hear you talking at night," she admitted. "I'm sorry, but the ship rocking… I don't sleep. I didn't mean harm."

Peeta dismissed her apology, and looked to Finnick who seemed unsurprised. "What does this mean for our trip? Does this change anything? Or has this always been there, on the side?" he asked.

Everyone else waited for Peeta's answer, wanting to put the mess behind them.

"Nothing has changed." Then he smiled, and his eye caught mine and I felt something in my stomach spark and I knew something in him had changed – something huge, but he would not say what and I could not decide what on my own. Peeta continued to add: "Only that I have a son, and tomorrow, when the sun rises we will spend our last day at sea and finally reach Panem as planned!"

A resounding, though slightly less enthusiastic, cheer rose at his claim. All of Peeta's advisors managed smiles, and then Prim handed me my son and I cared no more for what anyone else around me did.

* * *

Back in the cabin Prim and I sat across from each other, holding our children.

Lavinia moved around us, gathering her things – she'd requested to never see me again and I told her to go, because I could not bear the guilt I felt every time I saw her, knowing I allowed her lover to die. Her eyes were hard, hateful, and I could not blame her for any particle of that hardness and hatred. (Joanna, I think, was with Finnick, and I thanked every god there was that he had not been killed as well; Joanna's or Annie's grief were two things I would not have been able to face). When she departed I stood and gave Lavinia my most sincere apologize and she still left without a word.

I sat again, and I told Prim everything I knew about how I came to be alive again.

When that was done, and my son began crying, she said, "He's hungry."

I knew she had been nursing expertly for days, so I tried to look like I knew what I was doing and concentrated on my baby, shrugging out of a sleeve of my robe, and lifting his dear face to the nipple of my breast. He grabbed hold of it, his mouth strong, and I gasped at the feel; not wholly unpleasant.

He suckled, then again, hard and demanding, and then he let go my breast and wailed.

I tried again, pushing the nipple into his mouth.

Again he suckled, and then once more let go, and wailed his disappointment.

I frowned. "Am I doing it wrong?" I felt uncomfortable looking to Prim for aid.

Prim looked as confused, and then said, "Here, let me try." She leaned down and took him, lifted aside the bodice of her robe and offered him her breast. He suckled, and was instantly contented.

She must have seen my face fall. "I'm sure it doesn't mean anything," she tried to reassure.

"I have no milk," I replied, drawing a deep breath as all the happiness of my son's birth vanished, and I was left a disappointed husk, a failed mother, and a woman who trailed death behind her at every turn.

Hades' daughter, hadn't Glimmer once called me?

Hades' wife, more like. And fatal, indeed.

* * *

Very much later, well after dawn, Peeta came to see me.

I had my son back from Prim after she had fed both him and Aurora, and I was trying not to let the smell of milk on his breath (that was not the smell of my milk) send a sense of loss through me.

I raised my head before I heard Peeta step in the door. Somehow I knew he was coming.

"You're still awake," he said, surprised.

"Yes." I turned my face to stone and ran a hand through our son's curls.

"What's the matter?" Peeta stepped into the room. He paused to peer at Prim and disconcert if she is truly asleep, and nodded, satisfied, when he saw she was. "Where's Lavinia?" Peeta asked.

"She has gone, perhaps to mourn her husband and to never see me again..." my voice trembled as I said that last, and Peeta walked over to the bed. He stood a long moment, studying me and his son, then pulled up a stool and sat, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs.

His face was haggard.

"I don't want to tell you this was your fault as Glimmer has told you, but I think we all share an equal part in what happened on that beach. Do not beat yourself up on this, alright?" he said.

I nodded, curtly.

Peeta reached out a hand, and touched the baby's face. "It has been a hard night," he said.

"I'm not tired, though, or hurting at all…" I said. "I feel better than I have in a long time."

"Aye." Peeta smiled up at me. "I do too." He paused, and his hand strayed from his son's face to mine. He lifted my chin so he could the better look me in the face, then he dropped his hand away from me.

As if he had lost himself for a moment.

"What do we name him?" He gestured to the baby.

"You'll let me name him?"

"Of course."

"Achates," I decided, finally, letting the word fall from my tongue.

"It is a good name," Peeta allowed. "Sleep, now." He stood and turned.

I almost asked him to stay, but I merely tightened my arms around Achates, and let him go.


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N: The chapter was going to be longer, but it was getting ridiculously long.. so to be continued very soon. Sorry for the random ending. Hope you enjoy. There's a lot of new character introductions! If you're confused don't be afraid to ask questions, review or PM me anytime. I don't mean to be confusing! As always I disclaim anything that isn't mine. Thank you for reading. **A special thanks to Elsterbird for getting me really worked up about this story and for giving me the idea of one of these new character introductions! Thanks again! **

* * *

Chapter Nine

Clove rose slowly from her bed, feeling unsure, and walked naked from her house to greet the dawn. She paused on in the grass just before the house – staring out to the sky, to the sea, searching for Peeta – and when she got a sense of him she _really_ got a sense of him.

She flinched, and tightened her focus…

_How does his power grow?_

Hurriedly she moved down a hill and came upon the same pond she had sat in front of when she and Annie had created the storm that crippled the Trojan fleet and nearly killed Peeta's damned wife.

Clove went to her knees, touched the pond's surface and waited as an image rippled over the water. It was a familiar image; one of many ships, and many Trojans, and she zoomed it in on to their leader. Peeta lay sprawled on the deck, asleep, surrounded by other slumbering men – and initially Clove felt soothed by seeing him not in a bed with Katniss – but there was something off about him.

When she probed at his mind, she couldn't break passed a barrier. He blocked her out.

_He shouldn't have the power to do that!_

Immediately she knew he'd gone and made his own power source without her permission. This enraged her, along with the fact that he blocked her out, and therefore she could not read what had happened in his memories. What had happened? How had he figured out to make one? Had another Enlightened shown him? Where was the new power source and how best could she get rid of it?

She knew none of those answers and screamed out loud in frustration.

Clove drew in a very deep breath, determined not to go blustering in and yell… and then calmed. This couldn't be altogether a horrible thing. A more powerful Peeta? That was a good thing. He was her only ally, or friend really, and she knew the other Enlightened plotted against her as she plot against them, and his strength was sourly needed. In fact, the more she thought about it, the better the idea of his new fully realized power became. What was so wrong with Peeta finally growing a pair?

Clove smiled suddenly.

He was not that long from Panem's shore, and though he would have to trek over much land to reach Panem's center, where the capital resided, Clove felt better every inch closer Peeta came to her. He felt and tasted different – as was expected – but she was not sure she liked the way he smelt now, manipulating his new power, and she much preferred him when he was submerged in Coriolanus' power, drawing it from the bands. She contemplated putting the bands on him now, to keep him in line, but shook the idea away – it was risky. If he didn't get overwhelmed by the two power sources, then there was the possibility that he did not, in fact, like Coriolanus' gift and that is what led him to finding a power source for Hades' gift – and since he was likely more powerful than Clove with this new power source, to try to force him in the bands might endanger her.

Not that she worried Peeta would ever harm her.

She could tell he was still loyal by his actions: _Look how he heads straight for me! Look how he brings me Chaff's daughter so I might finally rid the land of its previous gods! Once he arrives we will sway the people together, and we will find Seeder's damned (and well hidden) power source and then all we need to do is begin building New Troy and our god wells!_

Then, finally, they will be immortal, and untouchable, and together.

Just the thought of fulfilling that sent a powerful need over Clove and she sat staring at Peeta's sleeping face rapt by the power that glowed underneath his skin. And then she looked at her own skin and frowned. She was not as powerful as she liked. Artemis was well and good enough… before.

Now, Clove wanted Hera more than ever.

Yet, she puzzled herself, also, for through all of this – this newness in Peeta and his ever coming approach – she felt both Seeder and Hera's presence coming much closer than she'd felt them for many long months. She'd hunted both at a time, close on their tails, before the two goddesses abruptly vanished from her radar, but now it was as if they drew nearer and nearer along with Peeta…

It was the same with Chaff, and Clove wondered: _Did it have something to do with Joanna?_

Was she a source of power for all three? Were they all harboring in the same place?

Could three gods share a power source – and a human one, at that?

Suddenly all of Clove's doubts dissolved. Whatever the answer to that was, was that in the end three of the gods Clove wanted dead most were coming right to her door. Clove could not think of any other reason… Joanna was with Peeta's fleet and when Peeta's fleet drew close…suddenly Seeder, Chaff, and Hera felt much closer, as well. It had to be Joanna.

Of course it had to be.

Well, wasn't that sad and senseless? Now they were all as trapped as poor, almost-dead Joanna.

A slow grin lifted Clove's mouth. _Bad place to hide,_ she thought toward them.

Cheered, Clove walked back inside to wash and robe for the day.

Some good had come of the mysterious day yesterday, after all. Despite the fact that Clove had no idea _what _happened or _how_, Clove could sense that what had happened _resulted_ in Cato's absence. Whether dead or abandoned, it didn't matter. Cato had been a nasty, horrid man. A nuisance with too much hold over Peeta.

Now he was gone, and there was no one, _no one_, to stand between Clove and Peeta.

Not now when she knew where Seeder and Hera were.

_(Not when she knew that once Seeder and Hera were hers, Katniss would seem insignificant in comparison.)_

But first – Clove turned to a woman standing in the room with her. "Get me Cinna."

"At once," the woman replied, bowed her head, then was gone.

* * *

**Panem**

Cinna stepped through the dark house carefully, until he came upon the right bed. Reaching down with both hands, he shook Brutus roughly awake. The man woke instantly and completely, spotting Cinna.

"The Anointed Mother calls for us," Cinna whispered.

Brutus trembled, annoyed for a moment, until Cinna pressed a finger to his lips. There was a girl beside Brutus, and she murmured and shifted in the bed, and Brutus eased himself away from her, untangling their limbs, and sliding out of the bed. Cinna stepped back and watched as Brutus willed the girl back to sleep, and she quieted, pulling the blankets tighter about her, forgetting his presence.

Naked, Brutus lifted a piece of woven green and red cloth from the end of the bed, deftly tying it low on his hips, slipped his feet into his leather sandals, and took from a bench a short cloak of a similar but heavier material than that of his hip wrap. As he smoothed his hair where the cloak disturbed it he whispered to Cinna, "Wait without, I'll join you shortly."

Cinna left, and Brutus moved, not toward the door of the large circular dwelling, but to another sleeping niche on the far side. There the Mother of the House lay awake; aware of the two men present.

As he approached the Mother stood, not bothering to hide her nakedness from Brutus. She was an old woman, her body of no interest to him, and she looked him over expectantly, frowning.

"I must go, Mother Cecelia," Brutus said very quietly as he reached her. She held out her hands, and he took them in his, lowering his head. "For your food and shelter and warmth this night, I do thank you."

"There is trouble," Cecelia said.

"There is trouble," he agreed. If the Anointed Mother wanted him, there had to be. "Great trouble."

Cecelia took a deep breath, but she knew, they had all known, this was coming.

She looked passed Brutus, to Cinna in the doorway and he gave her a charming, reassuring smile.

Then her eyes fell on the bed Brutus had just vacated.

"Has my daughter conceived a child?" she asked.

Brutus smiled, arrogant, and nodded. "She will have a strong and healthy child."

"Then you honor my House."

"I increase the herd," he said. "It is my duty as a man, and it is my privilege."

With that, he departed, Cinna in tow.

* * *

"So what do you think she wants?" Brutus asked as they walked, flexing his arm in the moonlight.

"She didn't tell me," Cinna said.

"I said what you _think_ she wants, not what she said she wants."

Cinna sighed; he easily got exasperated with Brutus. "I haven't the faintest idea."

They walked on the path that led through the round houses grouped together at the edge of the great northern forest. Brutus paused at the end of the trail and looked out at the hills. "Just try to keep up."

He turned again, grabbed Cinna's forearm and strode forward with purpose. Within moments he broke into an easy jog, his long legs covering the soft ground with the grace and economy of movement of a forest deer; dragging Cinna along behind him.

It was still dark when they had left Mother Cecelia's house, but by the time Brutus and Cinna reached the small rise that overlooked the valley floor, the sun had crested the horizon. Brutus paused, his breath easy despite the distance he had covered; Cinna was panting, and Brutus laughed at him for that.

"I need – a break," Cinna gasped, and Brutus shrugged.

Slowly as Cinna regained his breath, he looked about the valley, and then dropped to his knees, bending his forehead to the ground in regard to the valley of the Veiled Hills, the sacred heart of Panem.

Cinna muttered a prayer to his gods (Seeder and Chaff), then rose again. "Okay, let's go on."

The pair skirted the northern perimeter of the Veiled Hills, jogging across gently undulating ground thick with late summer flowers and grasses. They passed many clusters of houses and many of the people called to Cinna to join them, but he waved away their offers, and struggled to keep up with Brutus.

Brutus barely gave the people a glance.

When the sun had fully crested on the horizon the two men finally reached their destination.

The Anointed Mother's house stood on the top of a hill, and there on the doorstep stood the Anointed Mother herself. "Took you long enough!" she called to them as they approached.

Cinna gave a muttered apology, and Brutus shrugged – the wrong thing to do. At once she stepped down from the doorstep, strutting, and she shoved him in the chest. "We will talk elsewhere."

"Where's our Anointed Father?" Cinna asked, wary of her emanating anger.

"Sleeping, and I intend to leave him that way. Now have you come to hear my grave news or not?"

"We came, aye," Brutus grunted, rubbing off his chest where she'd pushed him.

"Then follow me." The slight dark-haired woman led them down the hill again, toward a small pond, where at once she sank to her knees and touched the surface, and she shouted, "Look! See her!"

Both stared at the image of a young woman with short brown hair in the water. At first, neither recognized her, and then Brutus' entire face contorted with hatred. "Joanna. Why do you show us this?"

Clove, her face still masked in anger, stood, and folded her arms across her chest. "Because I am Panem's Anointed Mother, I am your priestess and connection you have to your gods, and it is my duty to show you the dangers that threaten our land. Joanna is an exile for her crimes, and the image I show you of her is aboard a ship, that draws ever closer." Clove's mouth twisted in distaste. "I tell you two, because I know you love this land as much as I… and all agreed, if Joanna is welcomed back here, we are doomed."

"How is it she travels to us?" Cinna asked, skeptical.

Clove touched the water to zoom out on the ships. "With a fleet of Trojans, who mean us no harm – but she has fooled them in taking her here and thinking her harmless. If they knew what she had done they would not be her friend. Do not worry about the Trojans –"

"Do not worry!" Brutus shouted. "By Great Chaff himself! I see countless score after score of these black-hulled ships! And they are packed with people." He gestured to the pond with that image.

"Brutus –"

"Tens of thousands! And they are only just across the Narrow Seas! They can be here within a day!"

"Brutus –"

"They will swarm over us!"

Clove reached out and grabbed his elbow, giving it a shake. "For mercy's sake, Brutus! Will you listen?"

He subsided, and Clove let out a relieved sigh. "There are not tens of thousands, a little over ten thousand, yes, but not tens of thousands," she said. Cinna snorted at the unreassuring rewording of her words, and Clove shot him a look. "And they will not swarm. They want to settle here, and they, and their leader, are intelligent enough not to swarm like damned hares!" She forced a smile back to her face. "Besides, you know as well as I that we may need them."

"It's true then," Cinna said. "Our gods are dying."

"Yes," Clove said, unhesitating. "And Joanna will only further this process."

"And she comes with these Trojans?" Brutus spat.

Clove almost smiled at the vengeful hunger on his face. "Aye, Joanna. She is with them as I've shown. Do not worry over the Trojans… because we may have need of them. Their leader may have a power that can save our land when our gods leave us." She paused. "But we may not need him awhile yet… if you can get rid of Joanna… she threatens our gods just as much as before she left this land."

"Then I'll kill her before she has a chance to step foot in Panem again," Brutus growled.

"That is… not wise," Clove said, taking his arm, soothing her voice. She put on all the right expressions. She had to get them to do just what she needed – and without suspecting her of treachery. "Joanna has manipulated her way into the Trojan's midst. They'll protect her if they think you mean harm and the last thing we need is you triggering them to a fight. You must do it secretly, without witnesses."

Brutus nodded, then glanced at Cinna and Cinna nodded back. "Where?" he asked.

"Seeder's Dance."

"Seeder's Dance? Why there?"

Clove shrugged, fighting a cruel smile from her face. "Trust me, boys. It will be best there."

_The best place to take both Chaff and Seeder (and Hera!) in one final swoop._

"When do we do it? Their ships are just across the seas. They will sail straight to the mouth of the river."

She shook her head. "There will be a wind awaiting them once they gather themselves enough to set to sea again. It will drive them south, far south. They will land close to the Dart." She turned to Cinna, then. "I need you to move south to meet them. You can then lead a small party of Trojans north to meet with me and the Anointed Father. A small party that shall include Joanna, of course."

Cinna nodded. "Of course, Mother."

Brutus grinned. "And their path shall pass straight by Seeder's Dance, where I will wait."

"Exactly," Clove said. "Cinna, leave today. It will take him a week or more to get to the Dart."

"Should we not consult with the Anointed Father?"

"I speak for both of us." Clove put on a fake frown. "The Father needs his sleep. Leave him be."

Then she stepped forward, put her hands on Brutus' shoulders, and kissed him softly on the mouth. Her lips fell to his ear to whisper; "When Joanna is dead, perhaps our gods will prosper again… and when the power is returned…"

"When it is returned I can become Anointed Father?" Brutus asked and she nodded.

He seized her, stricken with longing, and for a moment or two Clove allowed him to rub against her breasts and belly, and to kiss her mouth. Cinna looked away, watching the sunrise stoically.

Then Clove pushed Brutus back. "Not yet, though. It is possible Joanna's death will do nothing for our gods and we will need the help of the Trojan's leader – his power can save this land, I know it."

The jealousy that twisted Brutus' face made Clove heart glad. If he was extra motivated to murder Joanna it was very likely that bitch woman would not escape her death – especially if Chaff, Seeder, or Hera think to try to save. "You won't need this man when you have me," Brutus told her, his voice deep. "I will restore our gods, and then you can send these Trojans off. We have no need of them or their leader's rescue."

_Oh, Peeta will not be leaving, _Clove thought. _Once you kill Joanna I will be all that Seeder and Hera once were and I will be Peeta's equal again, and we will build New Troy on top of our god wells…_

_But only after Brutus and Cinna carry this murder out._

Cinna spoke up again – and Clove was troubled by the doubt in his face. "And if killing Joanna does nothing for our gods… what is this power this Trojan leader possesses that will save our land?"

"Strength," Clove said simply. "Peeta has great strength."

"But if it does work!" Brutus said. "Then I will take this Peeta and do what I will with him. We shall have no need for him."

Cinna sighed at Brutus' lackluster planning. "And his ten thousand followers? What of them?"

"They will be back at the Dart," Brutus said, dismissing it. "Where they will be surrounded by half a country's worth of forest!"

"And the forest can take them?"

Clove laughed at Cinna's wit. (And hated it internally.)

"I will send Peeta away if you succeed, my beloved Brutus," Clove told Brutus before he could turn on Cinna and argue (with his head so thick it would be a long, exhausting argument even with Cinna's wit).

Brutus nodded at her promise, satisfied, then departed with Cinna. "We will see Joanna dead." But as Clove watched them walk away, she thought to herself; _Poor, sad men, my obedient tools and dogs, your success will only make Peeta's stay permanent._

_And your murder of Joanna will be the murder of your sad, pathetic gods._

* * *

Crossing the sea between the land of Poiteran, where Katniss had given birth, to the island of Albion (where Panem resided) took two days. A stiff north-northwesterly wind sprung up as they turned west, and combined with a strong tide, the fleet was pushed a little farther south and west than Peeta had originally wanted. Nevertheless, when one of Marvel's men woke Peeta at dawn, Peeta knew why.

The fore-looker had sighted land.

Leaving Katniss sleeping, the baby safely wrapped and held tight in her arms, Peeta threw on a tunic against the cool wind and hurried forward.

Marvel, a bloodstained bandage wrapped about his head where once his left ear had been (lost in the battle during Katniss' birth), was standing by the stem post of the ship. Before them, just visible in the dawn's faint lightening, rose a line of green-swathed cliffs. In several places the face of the cliffs had crumbled, sending the trees and under-vegetation tumbling into the sea, and in these gashes white chalk glowed eerily.

Marvel nodded to the line of cliffs. "Is this it? Is this what we've been sailing and fighting toward all these past months?"

Peeta stared at the coastline before them, a tight knot of excitement and anticipation and uncertainty in his gut. "Aye. This is the island of Albion, and here the place called Panem. I know it. I feel it."

Marvel nodded, and Peeta suddenly noticed the shadows under his eyes, and the lines etched into his face. "You have not slept."

"No. My head aches abominably, and the wound still drains."

"The physician…"

"Has seen it, and mutters darkly about the blade that sliced into me." Marvel stood straighter, and shrugged. "It is a wound, no more, Peeta. I am fit enough to continue."

"Have you sent a man to rouse Finnick?"

"Aye, and Deimas as well," Marvel replied. He hesitated, his gaze returning to the cliffs. "I pray to all gods that be, Peeta, that this land finally brings the Trojans luck. That here, at last, we can rest in the favor of the gods." He paused. "Surely…surely there can be no more ill luck left in this world that we have not already endured?"

Peeta shifted uneasily.

Somehow what came to mind wasn't Clove's impending attack of Thresh. No, what did come to mind was that dream he had long ago; of Katniss and her lover, interrupted by Coriolanus. He could not say why that would be – he had long ago resolved to forget that vision Seeder had called 'the future'.

After all, Glimmer said Katniss would be dead as of two days ago, and Katniss has never been healthier.

If that didn't prove the doubtful quality of visions, he didn't know what did.

"We have left ill luck well behind us," he said finally. "Of this I am certain."

* * *

Within half an hour, just as the ships were turning into the wind to tack north along the coast, Finnick, Joanna, Deimas, and Katniss, who had insisted on joining them, stood with Peeta and Marvel on the small deck by the stem post. Katniss walked cheerfully – something Peeta noted with surprise and pleasure – and her color was unusually good (and her eyes unusually bright as she stared at the distant coast). It was enough Peeta could hardly keep his eyes on the coast himself, and not on her.

Finnick had caused a platter of fruits, bowls of maza, and some well-watered wine to be brought to the group, and they sat cross-legged on the deck, sharing food, and watching the cliffs to the port bow of the ship. The ships were close enough to the cliffs now that they could hear the sound of the surf breaking at their base, and see the shape of the trees and the richness and variety of the undergrowth.

"It is a good land," Deimas noted, and none present could mistake the relief in his voice.

"It is so…green," Katniss said, and Peeta found himself agreeing with her. He'd rarely seen a land with such abundant vegetation — and the mere fact of that abundance augured well for their future life here. Game would be abound, and the soil was obviously fertile beyond anything he could have imagined.

It would be a fine place in which to raise both flocks and children.

"Joanna," Peeta said, casually taking a fig from the platter. "Is this Panem? Is this your home?"

Joanna had hardly eaten since she'd joined the group at the stem post. Her eyes were weary, the gray shadows underneath suggesting she'd slept even less than Marvel, and her thin fingers toyed ceaselessly with the dangling tassel of her waistband.

She'd scarcely taken her eyes off the cliffs rising to their right.

"Joanna?" Peeta said again, after she'd failed to answer.

Finnick, sitting beside his old friend, looked at her worriedly, and took one of her hands in his.

Her other hand jerked, and she suddenly looked back to the group. "Yes," she said, very low. "This is Panem. But do not call this my home. My true home I have left far behind me."

Peeta nodded. "Do you know this coastline? How far does it stretch? How many people live along here? And is there a place where we may safely land, and continue in safety once we are on land?"

"So many questions," Joanna said. Then she sighed. "The coastline of the southeastern portion of Panem is much like this for its entire length. It has many entrances to bays and rivers where you might land… but where we are exactly I cannot tell you. It has been so very many years since I was last here."

"Annie told me there is a great river to which we could travel," said Peeta. "It is surrounded by marshland and is grouped about by low rounded hills — the Veiled Hills. The capitol of Panem, if I'm not mistaken. Are we close?" If Annie were willing to come back and reside with the fleet, he could ask her that, but Annie refused to come despite Peeta's insisting – she was scared of something, he thought.

"To the Veiled Hills?" Joanna responded. "No. We are far to the south. The wind has pushed us well away from the Veiled Hills."

"How far?" Peeta said.

"The river you seek is much farther to the north. Perhaps two or three days' sail, or more, if you must tack against this wind."

"Thank you." Peeta leaned back, suddenly realized he still held the fig in his hand, and took a bite out of it as he looked at the others. He thought for a moment, then spoke to Joanna again. "Where is the main population of Panem grouped? In these hills to our west, or in the lands of the forests, or the Veiled Hills?" _The capitol was not always the most populated place…_

"In the lands about the Veiled Hills to the north," Joanna said, killing his thought. "The land is far richer there –" _Richer than this?_ thought every Trojan, as well as Katniss. _Richer than this sweet land of rolling wooded hills we see from here?_ "— and the climate milder. Also, most people like to live not too far distant from the Veiled Hills, which is a place of great mystery and sacredness and…power." She smiled a little, but it was sad. "We are a lazy people, and do not like to walk longer than two or three days to reach the site where most of our festivals are held."

"Your advice?" Peeta said, now looking to the others. "Should we sail straight north for the river and the Veiled Hills, or look for a landing spot along this coastline?"

"We seek a landing spot as soon as possible," said Marvel. "For two reasons. One, we need to replenish our fresh water and meat, and secondly, we are truly unsure of our reception among Panem's people. I, for one, do not fancy sailing directly into their lair around these Veiled Hills, even if we do number twelve thousand. But our numbers will serve us well this far south where the population is less and likely to be scattered. An isolated village of thirty or forty people will give this fleet no problems. The larger and stronger communities to the north may."

At that moment Prim arrived with Achates and handed him to Katniss, who smiled and took her son eagerly. Primrose, holding her own daughter, sat cross-legged next to her sister. Katniss looked to Peeta, and said, "I admit myself intrigued by these Veiled Hills. But I should be grateful to sleep on dry and firm land as soon as I might." Then, cuddling her son close to her neck, she added, "I want to see this land, my new home. Can we land now? Today?"

"There are many who would add their plea to that of Katniss," Deimas said. "Katniss is not the only woman among us who has recently given birth, nor the only one who feels tired, dispirited, or ill. The ships are crowded, the people are tired, and I think I speak for most when I say my desire is to land as soon as possible, and as safely as possible. If the risk to us is lesser in these southern regions of Panem, then I say we land here. Soon."

Peeta grinned at the eagerness in Katniss' and Deimas' voice. "If we find a suitable landing spot today then we will eventually have to reboard to move farther north — if negotiations with the Anointed Father and Mother go well. If we land today, then how ready will people be to reboard in a few weeks' time?"

"For a few more days' sailing only?" Deimas said. "They will not be unwilling. And if it brings us rest and comparative safety, then I say that we land now."

Joanna lowered her head at Deimas' "comparative safety," but she made no comment.

Peeta laughed, and held up his hand to stop Deimas. "I submit! And I agree, too. It is best that we find a congenial landing spot as soon as we can, and rest our people."

He rose. "Marvel, where did you put that fore-looker? We will need him, as all other fore-lookers in the fleet, to keep their eyes wide for possible bays, or river mouths. I do not want this fleet trying to offload in ocean swells."

* * *

I think that if I had not had the distraction of my love for my new son, I would have thrown myself overboard if I'd thought I might reach this land the faster.

It was the land of my dream, the land beyond the stone hall – the same stone hall that continued to haunt my dreams and that Peeta had brought me back to life within. If I had thought it was so when Peeta had first mentioned the name "Panem" during his speech at the Altars of the Philistines, then I knew it now. I caught sight of those cliffs, and the thick green woods atop them, and such a burst of emotion boiled up from my belly I thought I would die if I did not reach that land soon.

And yet, it came with the most extraordinary sensation of relief, and of homecoming, and it was so beautiful, so comforting, that I did not even think to question it.

All I know is that when I emerged from the cabin, and walked to the deck rail, and stood there with my hands upon it, and saw that line of cliffs, I knew I had come home.

_Home._

I drew in a very deep, very emotional breath. This new land of Panem represented so much. I looked at the line of cliffs and I saw a new life and a new beginning. It had appeared – very literally – on the horizon at the same time as two other great discoveries: the totally unexpected love for my son, and the realization that once we were ashore I would be officially denounced as Peeta's wife and then it would be just that – freedom, with my sister, my son, niece, and a wondrous new land for traveling and settling.

That is if I could let go of Seeder's gift, and the threat of Clove. And at that moment, I was willing.

Since that night where Peeta had brought me back, had proven his will to protect me and had taken on his own shoulders a part of the blame for the battle surrounding Achates' birth, our friendship (that had been warmed somewhat before my death) had managed to settle down into something respectful and simmering on the back burner. It was not often he sought me out anymore. In fact, he rarely came to speak with me, unless he was there to see our son. It bothered me none.

We had a shared love — Achates — and a new understanding; his promise to me was fulfilled and I could trust him, if nothing less, and that trust had overthrown a wall I'd not known I'd put up.

* * *

Once Peeta resolved to land the fleet as soon as possible, I stood from the group, and wandered closer to the front of the ship. I stood at the deck railing, and hummed under my breath to my son, whilst never taking my eyes off the distant cliffs.

Thinking of that stone hall of my dream, I remembered the small girl and her laugher, and how she ran just out of sight – I could not know who she was, but I desperately wanted to know, as much as I wanted to know the man I turned to, and that I felt I loved beyond life. Who were these two?

_My daughter and future lover, the father to her?_

The thought was moot and seemed unfortunate somehow.

I shook myself, a wry grin on my face. A few days ago I had been sure I was about to die, killed by the black-eyed Peeta if not some shadowed stranger; now I was daydreaming about a future that I never truly wanted when I had been only just Katniss in her sister's palace. Perhaps that was the sight of the distant cliffs talking, perhaps all the unresolved emotion of birth and death, perhaps just the foolish thoughts of the young girl who had not been anywhere until she was stolen and put in the midst of a thousand strong fleet and a war of gods.

Living was enough to hope for now, and even that might be asking far too much.

Joanna eventually joined me at the deck railing. She put her arms about me, and we leaned in close to each other, and I knew, somehow, that she was indescribably sad. Over the past weeks we had talked of many things, but apart from that first night when she'd offered me so much information and pet my hair to comfort me, she had rarely mentioned her homeland, or the child she had been raped for and lost.

"Joanna?" I said, and she somehow knew to what I referred.

"I will not be welcomed here," she said, and then her arm squeezed my (newly refound!) waist. "But I think that somehow you will find yourself a true home. But beware, Katniss. There will be those who will seek to harm you."

Clove, I knew, wherever it was she waited to take Peeta under her spell, again.

_But who else? Who else had I made my enemy? _

_That man Hera warned me against?_ I thought. _Gods! I hadn't thought about Hera's warning for months!_

And what was his name? Birth and death must truly have muddled my wits to have forgotten that…there was something she'd said…some description… "The Thorned One?" I said, relieved that something had finally come to me, but Joanna frowned.

"Thorned?"

"No. Not that one. Another name…I'm sorry. It was so long ago. I can't recall. I was warned against him. A long time ago. Ah, do not worry about it, Jo. I am sure it is nothing."

"Well…" Joanna faced me fully and I could tell that something was _really_ wrong because there, on her face, sat a bubbling of vulnerable emotions a woman so spunky as her had never showed before. Jo pulled me yet closer, and kissed my cheek… whispering in my ear: "Whatever happens to me," she said, very low, "keep safe, Katniss. Keep safe."

I opened my mouth to ask her why she should think she was in danger, but she had turned and was gone, and I was left staring foolishly after her with a profound sense of loss and sorrow that was as unknown, and as unsettling, as was my strange reaction to this new land.

* * *

Within the hour Peeta heard the combined shouts of several of the fore-lookers. Already standing close to the stem of the ship, he raced forward, Marvel and Katniss at his side, to see at what they shouted.

On their port bow the cliffs had drawn back into what appeared to be a wide bay, or perhaps the mouth of a river, flanked on both sides by high headlands. As they drew close to the opening, Peeta could see that the bay stretched back as far as his eye could see. It was so big it could easily hold five hundred vessels; his fleet would almost be lost within its vastness.

He turned to Marvel. "Well?"

"We take five ships and sail in," said Marvel without hesitation. "If this is as good as it appears, then the rest can follow at our signal."

Peeta looked at Deimas who had joined them. He nodded his agreement.

"Good," Peeta said. "We take this ship, and those of Assaracus, Aganus, Peleus, and Serses. Signal them, Finnick." His men nodded and left; leaving him and Katniss there alone.

Peeta stepped up to the stem post, nervous suddenly, and Katniss, without seeming to think about it, slung her arm in his and leaned a cheek into his bare shoulder, staring out at the land. "I can hardly believe such a land exists," she murmured, with the reverence of a woman who had hitherto been used to the thinner soils and harder climate of western Greece.

"Aye," said Peeta. He leaned over the stem post, still holding her arm, and shaded his eyes against the now bright sun. "I see no smoke, nor no sign of habitation. You?"

Katniss strained her eyes, then shook her head. "It is a paradise, waiting for us."

"Aye," said Peeta, squeezing her arm, and the pulse of power that came off of her was as drugging as her smile. "Waiting for us."

* * *

Oarsmen ran to their benches and slipped their oars into the water; all those of the five ships Peeta had selected, their captains ordered the sails lowered and stowed.

Within minutes the ships had come to, navigating through the wide opening between the headlands.

"Order the men to keep close lookout," Peeta said softly although there seemed no sign of danger, or even of further watching eyes, in the wide bay. Formed by the great mouth of a river estuary, the bay was flanked on either side by steep wooded hills that rolled away into the distance.

There were no smoke trails, no sign of habitation, no tracks that led from the woods to the foreshore, no fishing boats drawn up on the occasional sandy beach.

On the other hand, there were numerous water birds, the flash of fish schools within the water, and the mouths of several creeks that emptied into the bay.

The river itself stretched wide and deep, and wound into the hills in a general northwesterly direction.

"Even if there are archers hiding in those hills," Marvel said, "the river is wide and deep enough to allow the entire fleet entry without danger."

Peeta took a deep breath, considering. The five ships were now deep into the bay, the river stretching invitingly before them, and they could see nothing, nor had their presence elicited any reaction from the close woods.

It could be a trap…but…

"Signal the other ships to follow us in," Peeta said, "but signal also that the archers are to stand ready, should we have need of them. We need to land somewhere, at some time…and I can see no sweeter place than this. We have to risk it."

"Do we land here, on one of these sandy beaches?" Marvel said.

"I think not. None of them are large enough to allow for the size of our fleet, nor for the numbers of our peoples. There is no place here to establish an easy camp for twelve thousand; besides, this bay is still too open to the sea. If a storm should blow in then the ships would be dashed against the rocks. We follow the river, and see what we may see."

* * *

Slowly, single file, the black-hilled ships of the Trojan fleet sailed into the mouth of the river and up into the land. On either side reared the steep wooded hills; now and again among the trees close to the waterline the Trojans caught a glimpse of deer or hare, and even once of several slow-blinking wild sows standing at the water with their piglets, watching the gradual progression of oared ship after oared ship pass up the channel.

Finnick's vessel led the file, Peeta standing alert close to the stem post. His eyes continually moved between the two shorelines, looking for signs of human habitation — or human ambush.

Katniss still stood with him – and it was all he could do to keep his eyes off her.

_I must make small talk_, he decided. They had talked less than he would have liked in the past few days and he supposes it was partly his fault, so he shifted, cleared his throat and…

Disappointed himself by diving right for his safe go-to subject.

"Achates?" Peeta asked, glancing at her.

"Primrose is feeding him," Katniss said distractedly, her eyes on the passing hills.

Peeta opened his mouth to say something, couldn't think of anything, and merely nodded instead.

"This is a mysterious land," Katniss said after a few minutes.

"You said it was green earlier."

She shrugged. "It is green and mysterious. What lives in those woods, do you think?"

"Deer, hare, birds, wild boar. All the creatures woods harbor."

"But what else? There is surely something else in these woods…"

Peeta looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

Katniss took a moment to reply, staring into the forested slopes to either side of the river as if she looked for something…or someone. Eventually she shrugged, giving a small embarrassed smile. "I don't know. Maybe my thoughts remain muddled from Achates' birth and my death. Forgive me."

He smiled himself, very gently. "I will allow you a few muddled thoughts in return for the gift of Achates. It is not a heavy price." He reached out a hand, and after a small hesitation, she took it.

Then she turned to face him fully, her eyes open and despairing as she tipped her face back to meet his gaze. "I am worried, too, Peeta… it is wondrous now, to me, but I know something will sour it –"

Peeta hushed her. "Have you forgotten so soon? I'll protect you from anything that wishes you harm."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Katniss said, blinking away anxiety. "It's Joanna. She's scared of something, and I don't know what. I want to protect her from it, but I do not know how."

Peeta frowned, and cast an eye toward the cabins where Joanna had slunk off to not long ago.

"Well fret none, for she is well loved here. I will not allow any of my fleet harm if I can help it and Finnick has watchful eyes on her. He and I are aware of her danger and I will share this concern with all the rest of my advisors and hope that they, too, will keep a close eye on her."

Katniss thought over his words, then drew in a deep breath, rubbed at her cheek and nodded, satisfied.

"Better?" Peeta asked.

"Thank you, Peeta. Truly."

"I'd do anything for you… did you know?" The admission had slipped out – he only meant to think it! But once he saw her eyes refocus on him, cautious, he added the last three words awkwardly.

Katniss gave a smile, let go his hand and stepped forward to lean against the deck railing.

"What are friends for?" she said eventually. "You know I'd protect you, when I can, too."

"Aye."

_Friends._

* * *

For two turns of the river the landscape remained unchanging; steep rolling and closely wooded hills, sometimes plunging to the water's edge in cliffs, sometimes easing down more gently to small sandy beaches.

Nowhere, thus far, was there a good place to land such a large fleet.

As the leading ship rounded the third turn, Peeta suddenly swore, and grabbed Katniss and pushed her none too gently away from the stem post. He called for his advisors. Katniss, who'd been about to protest, scrambled even farther back when she saw what it was that had grabbed Peeta's attention.

On the north side of the river there was a small valley created by a merrily tumbling stream, and at the point where the valley flattened out to join the river stood a moderately sized village surrounded by well-cultivated fields and orchards. The village was un-walled or fortified — which surprised Peeta — and made of some twenty or twenty-five circular huts made of logs, stone, daub, and thatch.

People were running from the huts, standing to stare at the ship as it came about the bend, then turning on their heels to race deeper into the village where a much larger and well-fortified round house stood on higher ground.

Finnick and Marvel had joined Peeta. Behind them the Trojans crammed into the ship muttered and pointed as the villagers continued to rush for the safety of the large round house.

"What do we do?" asked Finnick.

"Nothing," said Peeta. "They will see soon enough that we have an army of ships following…they will not risk an attack."

"And if they warn others of our presence?"

Peeta thought about it – then shrugged. "There is not much we can do about that save protect and fortify our eventual camp as best we can. We will have to meet this people sooner or later, Finnick. We can't hide forever."

"They are well clothed," remarked Marvel. "Even from this distance I can see their tunics and robes are woven with fine patterns. And look — they have herds of sheep and goats."

"Only a few of them carry weapons of any note," said Peeta. "These are not an aggressive people."

From among the scurrying villagers walked forth one woman. She was old, but not ancient, with long graying brown hair and a thin, weary face that was enlivened with very bright, very intelligent eyes. She wore no mark of leadership, but somehow exuded an aura of power that made her stand out from her villagers as no crown or golden band could.

As she watched them, standing close to the shoreline, she laid a hand to her belly and looked directly at Peeta, as if she knew who he was, then her eyes slid momentarily to where Katniss stood several paces away from Peeta.

When her eyes came back to him, Peeta raised a hand over his head and very slowly waved it back and forth several times, then pointed upriver.

_We greet you, and mean you no harm. We continue forward._

The woman stared, then, very slowly, lifted one open-palmed hand to shoulder height, acknowledging the message.

"I wonder how many more villages we will pass?" Finnick murmured.

* * *

Two more, as it turned out, before they approached a site Peeta thought suitable for landing.

In similar fashion to the first village, the people of the next two villages tended to panic at first sight of the ships, then they would slow to stare as they — and their headwoman — realized the foreigners meant no harm.

Not yet, at least.

None of them moved to attack, and Peeta dared to hope that his Trojans would remain unmolested.

At noon the leading Trojan ship moved about a bend in the river — although still wide, the main channel of the river was now growing considerably shallower, and Peeta knew they'd need to find a suitable site before long — and found the landscape flattening to flowery meadows on either side of the riverbanks, the woods sparser, and, on the northern bank, a very large and relatively clear meadow surrounded by marshes and tidal mudflats.

Behind the clear area rose a steep-sided hill topped with a rocky outcrop. The riverside flank had a gradual incline, but on every other side the hill fell away steeply.

It would be a good defensive location: with all the Trojan men to hand, and all the wood surrounding them, Peeta knew he could build a wooden palisade within a week. It wouldn't be large enough to contain all the Trojan campsites… but with luck it would be large enough for them to huddle within should there be need for protection.

He turned about slowly on the deck, studying the surrounding landscape.

It was good. The site itself was large, relatively level, high enough to escape any tidal fluctuations in the river level, and with a covering vegetation that would soon be cleared away for a campsite. There was a stream…no, three streams emptying into the river at a close distance. The woods in the nearby hills were full of game. There were too many trees too close to where Peeta wanted camp set up, a potential concealing place for attackers, but again the thousands of able-bodied men could clear those within a day or two.

And the riverbank at the foot of the clearing was wide and broad enough for a score of ships to unload at the same time.

It was unlikely that he could find a better spot in time for them to disembark before nightfall.

He nodded, and smiled at Finnick and Marvel. "This is the place," he said.

* * *

Disembarkation took many hours, and it was not completed until very late that night. Oarsmen maneuvered ship after ship to the beach where strong men waited with ropes to haul its stem partway onto the sand. They were helped by a good high tide, and by a sharp drop away into the river so that the ships found it easy to move to the beach. Part weary, part wary, shipload after shipload of people clambered down to the dry land, hauling out their possessions, carrying struggling sheep and goats and children, and standing, once landed, to stare about at this land to which Peeta had brought them.

Peeta's first task was to establish a secure perimeter about the landing area and the hill that rose behind it. The first several hundred people to disembark were warriors, swords drawn, fanning out to scout the woods that not only surrounded the landing site and the hill, but the bank on the other side of the river as well.

Peeta wanted no surprises.

Not after what happened to Katniss and his warriors on that beach in Poiteran.

Once he was certain the immediate area was secure, Peeta and his immediate subcommanders —Finnick, Marvel, Glimmer, and Deimas (Cato was no longer and it seemed a small group now without him) set about establishing a camp for the night: no easy task for some twelve thousand people. At best they could hope for campfires and enough space to allow everyone to stretch out; over the next few days everyone would have to work as hard as possible to build temporary shelters.

As people milled, bustled, shouted, laughed, and occasionally wept in the doing of their tasks, Peeta climbed to the top of the hill while it was still light. It was a large hill, very high, its almost-level crown large enough for a moderate-sized fortress, and it commanded a good view of the surrounding countryside.

From the river the landscape had seemed to be composed of almost-endless undulated and densely wooded hills; from his vantage point atop the hill Peeta could see that the wooded hills extended for many miles in every direction. There were small patches of open land where diseased trees had fallen, but generally the forests looked almost impenetrable.

In the very far west, however, Peeta saw that the hills leveled out into flat and mostly unwooded plains. Looking back toward the coast he could see a few twists of smoke rising from the riverside villages they'd passed, but there were no smoke trails rising from anywhere farther inland. Peeta guessed that unless word had spread about his fleet and fires had been doused, the only villages in the immediate area were on the river itself where transport was possible.

There were very obviously no large towns or fortresses within several days' march at the least.

For the time being they were relatively safe.

Deimas joined him on the hilltop, puffing a bit after the steep climb, and for a few minutes they studied the landscape together, discussing what they would need to accomplish in order to build a secure campsite for the Trojans.

"And if this is not to be New Troy," Deimas said, "what shall it be, then? What name will you give to this first Trojan settlement in the new land?"

Peeta gave a short laugh, caught by surprise. He thought a moment, then grabbed a knife from his belt and leaned down to a patch of damp moss-covered rock. He scraped industriously for a few minutes, then stood back to admire his handiwork:

_here I stand and here I Rest._

_this place shall be called Delltos._

"Delltos?" Deimas said.

Peeta grinned. "When I was a boy and still under my father's rule, I had a best friend and betrothed named Delly. She used to dream that I would be a great king and go to lands far distant and take her with me. Drew me a many a picture of it. 'Tis only fair I name this first landing spot after her."

Deimas smiled, and it was warm. "And where is this Delly now? She could not come?"

"She has her own adventures."

Deimas chortled good-naturedly, then sobered as he looked back to where another group of black-hulled ships were drawing up one by one to the landing beach. "All these years I traveled and fought with you, Peeta, I have never doubted that you were a capable and great man. But to see this, to see our fellow Trojans — so many thousands of them — brought out of misery and slavery and to a new land to rebuild their pride…well…I have never realized how great you truly were."

"The fighting is not yet done, my friend. If Panem refuses to accept us, then the worst battle of all may yet be before us." Yet even as he said the words, Peeta was certain they were not true.

Clove would have prepared the ground for their arrival.

* * *

As the Trojan's settled in, bustling around me, I walked with Prim along the riverbank as we held our children and it took all my will power to keep me from running full speed into the trees in the distance.

I think Prim noticed my distraction, as I had not heard what she was saying multiple times and my eyes rarely, if not at all, lifted from the wooded hills.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so captivated," Prim said, the words finally sinking into my mind. "Back in Mesopotamia I used to worry that you would never find anything of interest but my business – not that I minded much – but it relieves me to see you have passion for other things than family."

I frowned at that wording. "Family is the only thing that matters, really."

Prim smiled. "Oh, I know. This isn't a bad thing. I love this new place too, you know."

I drew my eyes to her face; she glowed as she always did. I came to the realization that maybe, she, too, had overcome that mound of hatred that had separated us from happiness for these long past months after the destruction of our home. Would we truly find happiness here? Among these lands?

I wanted it. I wanted to believe there was a small round house for us and our children, so that we may watch them grow and that we may spend our days hunting and raising livestock and weaving our clothes and each other's hair and sitting lavish in these breathtaking forests until the end of our days.

(I no longer fancied the idea of being Peeta's and New Troy's queen. I did not want that power and responsibility and the Trojan's hatred for me may have ebbed, but was still strong (Lavinia was proof of that) and I could not allow to being a queen to a people who hated me. And I could have let that go freely, I would have left freely – since it is that the moment I stepped foot on this land I was unbound from Peeta – but I couldn't leave him. Not when I knew Clove was waiting for me to be set aside or to die, and I couldn't let him become that monster again. He didn't want to be, and had reframed from being that monster for many weeks now and I was both proud and relieved for that. Only that I worried Clove might rip the monster back to the surface now that we were in Panem and her plans depended on the brutish Peeta's strength…)

I wanted to leave, but wouldn't.

I was his friend, and I was supposed to protect him, even if he didn't know he needed to be protected from Clove. (I had reframed from speaking of or against her for a while now, knowing what happens to him when I do.) But how do I convince him she is evil? How do I turn him away from her and her plots to start another war among the gods?

Then I begin to wonder; _what if Peeta does love her? _

The idea didn't seem impossible. There are hundreds of tales of prisoners falling in love with their captors; though usually it is the woman who is trapped and the man is usually the captor.

I didn't like the thought of Peeta being so doted and tricked.

I didn't like the thought of the woman who tricked me touching him, manipulating the real him.

I had no doubt he respected me now; I could see that much in his eyes. But I also saw anguish in his eyes when he looked at me, and it painfully reminded me that any loyalty he gives me may still just be the motivation of his guilt. He pitied me, I thought, and it seemed very obvious as we stood at the stem of the ship and he had told me he would do anything for me. _Anything to pay me back for my suffering. _

I wanted to tell him then that I wanted Clove gone, and forgotten.

But I knew by 'anything' he did not mean that.

So instead I had turned from him and reminded him I was not the enemy.

I was his friend. And I was supposed to protect him.

And I just hoped he remembered that when I told him what I thought of Clove. Which should come sooner rather than later. So I turned to Prim, handed her Achates, and told her I would come find her once I had a small talk with Peeta, and then I marched off toward where he had set up his tent.

* * *

Just before I reached out and pulled aside the flap of Peeta's tent, Finnick came up behind me and grasped my shoulder and pulled me into the most unnecessary conversation of my life.

"Finnick," I said, "I don't really find the differences between fresh and saltwater fish that interesting."

"But it's important!" he insisted, and tried to pull me toward his own tent.

I pulled my arm free, in time to Jo to arrive and the look that passed between her and Finnick made my stomach turn over. "What's the matter? Has something happened? Why are you acting strange?"

Jo wrapped an arm around my waist, and, like Finnick, tried to pull me away from Peeta's tent. "It's nothing, Katniss. It's just that we hardly saw you in the past two days since you almost _died_ – might I remind you. Why don't we rest a night in Finnick's tent with wine and figs and –"

"I have to talk to Peeta," I said, worried I would lose my nerve on the matter of Clove if it waited.

"Peeta's occupied at the moment," Finnick said. "I'll pass on your message if you like."

"What do you mean occupied?"

Neither answered me.

Hurriedly now, I turned to the tent and reached for the flap. "Katniss you don't –" Jo began.

But I already saw what they were trying to hide from me.

Peeta had his back to me, and didn't immediately notice me, and truthfully even if he was facing the entrance of the tent I do not think he would have noticed with his lips so invested in Glimmer's. The expression on my face froze, and I felt Finnick's hand on my wrist, tugging me back, but I ripped myself free – I had to see this. No matter that I felt as though someone had just kicked me in the chest.

(_I did not stop to think why it felt that way.)_

Peeta's hands had Glimmer tightly by the hips, digging his nails into her skin, lifting her up on a chest full of clothes and nonessential things, and they were going at each other so… viciously… so fevered I do not think they would have even noticed if the tent caught on fire around them. A sucking sound emitted from where their lips attacked each other's and it made me feel as nauseous as Glimmer's fingers buried in Peeta's golden curl – the same gold curls Achates had, and that I loved.

"Peeta," I managed to get out, choked.

Glimmer drew back first, grinning at me over his shoulder; and Peeta's head went to her neck, kissing down to her collarbones. He didn't turn to me. He simply grunted, "Now isn't the time, Katniss."

A trickling of suspicion twisted through my heart and I strutted to them, ignoring Finnick's protests. I grabbed Peeta by the upper arm, and it took all my strength to turn his head away from Glimmer, and I felt my heart fall when what met my gaze were black pitted irises. "_What!_" he snarled in my face.

"This isn't you," I said at once, and touched his cheek – but Glimmer grabbed my wrist and shoved me so hard away that I stumbled over and fell.

"Don't touch him," Glimmer hissed. "He's mine."

Peeta grinned at her at that, kissing her again, before turning to look at me in contempt. "You had that scrawling son of yours, and we're in Panem," he said, and his eyes flickered to the tent entrance where Finnick and Joanna stood, then back to me: "Now seems a good time to denounce you more than ever."

Glimmer's breath caught in surprise and pleasure. "She's no longer your wife?"

"Never was," Peeta said. "Just a girl with legs to be spread."

What he said _stung_, the way words always did coming from black-eyed Peeta's mouth. I stood, trying to regain some of my dignity, my cheeks flushed in anger. "What happened to being friends?"

Peeta roared with laughter. "Friends? Us? Ha!"

"Poor thing, can't even get it through her head," Glimmer purred, wrapping her arms around Peeta.

Finnick stepped tentatively forward. "Katniss… why don't we… go."

"No," I said. "I'm not leaving until he snaps out of this."

"Go, Katniss," Peeta said, lazily. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"I wouldn't be a very good friend if I left you… like this. You have to snap out of this, Peeta."

Peeta eyes focused on mine for the first time, and I inhaled, hoping.

But his words ravished all the thoughts in my head.

"One does not simply just _snap out of _love."

Glimmer's gleeful exclamation at that drowned out my heavy exhale. She put both her hands on his cheeks and tried to turn him so she could kiss him, murmuring back her love, but Peeta remained a moment longer staring straight into my eyes. I could have sworn they flickered blue for a heartbeat.

I turned, gathered my robe in my hands, and fled.

* * *

By the time fires were lit and had roared back to cooking coals, and bands of hunters had returned with carcass after carcass of plump deer from the woods, it was near midnight, and people had only enough energy left to huddle by the nearest fire and eat what was handed out to them.

Peeta and Deimas returned around this time from the hill; laughing and reminiscing in a tale of when they had first sailed together. As they walked Peeta made sure that the ring of surrounding warriors were fed, and that others would relieve them after a few hours, before he approached a group of some thirty people about one of the fires that included his close companions. He was just about to sink down beside Katniss when Finnick seized him by an arm and pushed him aside so that he could sit there.

Peeta stared at Finnick for a moment, stunned. "If that was your spot you merely had to say so."

Finnick glared up at Peeta, the anger there plain and Peeta felt a jolt through his chest when Finnick wound a protective arm around Katniss' shoulders – she had yet to even look up from the flames.

"Did I say something?" Peeta said, eyebrows furrowing.

Prim, sitting beside Katniss with two infants suckling at each of her bare breasts sent him a look. "You said all together quite enough. Will you not just leave it at that and put us at peace?"

Deimas touched Peeta's shoulder, then tipped his head to everyone else around the fire.

They were all either ignoring Peeta entirely or glaring. Everyone as well looked exhausted, and much of the food lay uneaten. Relievingly, over half of the people _beyond_ the fire were asleep and not glaring.

"I don't understand," Peeta said. "Did something happen while I was away?"

"Don't pretend," Katniss muttered, and he could barely hear her over the crackling of the flames.

"Pretend what?" Peeta asked, slightly frustrated. "That I'm confused?"

Katniss whipped her face up and around, mouth open to say something, but stopped short, eyes behind Peeta's back. Peeta turned to see Glimmer moving her way toward him, grinning gleefully.

"I've been looking for you," Glimmer said as she reached him, and her arms slipped around his side and Peeta shifted away uneasily, not used to such touching. "You left so abruptly after…"

Her eyes fell to Katniss, triumphant, and then slid slyfully back to Peeta.

"After what?" Deimas was the one to ask this time. "Peeta and I have been in the hills for hours."

"And now you're having good men lie for you?" Finnick said, disapproving. "Why don't you just stick by what you said? You made it very clear how you felt then. Leave it and leave the wound to close."

Peeta opened his mouth, but at the sight of Katniss turning away, dead in the face, he felt his heart sink.

"Alright, then," he said, and turned, shaking off Glimmer and found his own campfire to eat at.

He ate with Glimmer purring beside him and she told him everything that had happened – though she was confused how he did not recall, she loved retelling stories, and Peeta by the end was sharing a look of horror with Deimas. "Glimmer," Peeta said, interrupting her description of Katniss' expression as he denounced her and claimed his love for Glimmer. "Can you get me Finnick?"

She left and Deimas said immediately, "Someone is impersonating you?"

"I don't know. It wasn't me," Peeta said, pulling at his hair. _Clove?_

_But why would Clove unattach me from one woman and then to another?_

_No. This was targeted on Katniss._

"I don't doubt it…" Deimas said, "unless it's possible for a god to be in two places at once?"

Peeta shook his head. "I don't know if others can, but I know I can't."

"Do you think you can erase the damage? I don't know if the others wound want or even have to patience to believe your explanation."

_No, the damage was going to come – Katniss was no longer my wife for a long while, and though I would have made it far less brutal and far less degrading, I would have denounced her soon._

_It was her wish, after all._

"The thing that worries me most is Glimmer," Peeta said, watching her head back his way, with a very unhappy Finnick in tow. "I don't love her, of course, but I don't want to turn her against me by taking it back. I already lost Cato… the last thing I need is a lack of advisors in this coming time."

"Her power as a seer should tell her you don't love her – ask her to predict that," Deimas suggested.

"Perhaps." Peeta frowned, and the conversation ended as he stood. "Finnick," he greeted his friend as Glimmer took her place beside Deimas. "Can we go for a walk and talk for a moment?"

"You are still my leader, so I guess I have to," said Finnick.

Peeta led them through the camp, twisting their way to the hill that him and Deimas had been standing on for the past few hours – in which hours he felt sure the imposter him had alienated whatever warmth he'd earn from Katniss; a thing he felt like a kick to his stomach.

After a lot of convincing Finnick believed him on the matter, but refused to tell Katniss about it.

"Why?" Peeta asked.

"Because what's it going to fix? Besides, she may think kindly of me, but I am by no means her best friend. Joanna won't even listen to me if I tried to stick up for you –"

"Not for me! It's an imposter, I'm telling you!"

"I know," Finnick said, and in the calm of his face Peeta saw he believed him. "But until you have proof I don't advise blundering about it to Katniss and for that matter her very pushy pair of protectors."

"Protectors?"

Finnick grinned. "I was referring to Primrose and Joanna."

"Funny, how Katniss thinks she's protecting them."

"It goes both ways, I suppose."

The more Peeta thought, the more he understood what Finnick meant. He had no way of knowing what the imposter chose for his eye color, and therefore could not even fall back on a lie of simply slipping into black-eyed Peeta; not that he wanted to claim that, because that would blotch his record of not doing such a thing just to have Katniss overlook this cruelty. "What do I tell Glimmer?" Peeta said.

"Tell her you are the king of Troy, and you need a specific kind of queen. She's not Trojan is she?"

"No. Glimmer is Greek, from an isle we came across at random many years ago."

"Then that will suffice. She may be offended, but she will understand eventually. This is all for Troy."

_It isn't though, _Peeta thought, tiredly; tired with Clove's plot, tired of the Enlightened pact.

"All for Troy," he agreed aloud.

Finnick nodded, then waved a hand vaguely about. "Is this where we stay?"

"For the time being, but not permanently. We stay here, we rest, we regain our strength, and while we do that I seek out this Anointed Mother, and negotiate with her our permanent settlement."

"And the Anointed Father," Finnick pointed out. "Don't forget Joanna said that the various Houses of Panem deferred to two people, the Anointed Father and Mother both." Peeta grunted acknowledgment.

By the time they got back to the campfire where Katniss sat, Peeta looked about and noticed Joanna wasn't in the group of people sitting there, nor about any of the nearby fires. "Where is Joanna?"

Prim nodded to the west. "She said she wanted to see more of her homeland than just the nearby trees."

Finnick went to sit, and Peeta thanked Prim; "I need to speak with her," was how he excused himself.

No one returned the sentiment aside Marvel and Finnick.

* * *

Joanna turned as Peeta approached, and he saw that she had been weeping.

"We need to speak candidly, Jo," Peeta said as he came to a halt by her side. "I have twelve thousand people to protect, and I have known since I first saw you that you are terrified of returning to Panem. What is wrong? Why are you not overjoyed at coming back to your homeland?" He dropped down to sit at her side on a rock; if she was still mad about the Katniss thing, she did not show it.

"Joanna, no more evasions. Answer my question. Should I fear, too?" he murmured softly.

She turned her face away from him, back to the rolling forested hills. "Not as much as I." She paused, thinking, then came to a decision. "I have been brought home to be killed, Peeta."

"What?"

"Let me tell you in my own way, and to fill in some of the gaps in my story. What did Finnick tell you about me… that I left this land when I was fourteen, then was married to a merchant who died within six months, leaving me stranded in Locrinia where Finnick, the wondrous man, offered me refuge?"

"Aye. And you told me later that you were forced into leaving this land. Why? Why did they force you to leave?"

She sighed. "Because it suited them –"

"Who are these 'them'?"

"My mother, Herron, who was the Anointed Mother twelve years ago, and my father Ernie, who was the Anointed Father. Maybe just my mother wanted me gone… I am not sure.

"I came from a powerful House within Panem, Peeta. The House of Seeder. My mother was the Anointed Mother, and so was her mother – all the way back. I was conceived as her eldest daughter during the midsummer fertility rites. My father was the Anointed Father. I was not my mother's heir, for that role would belong to my youngest sister…" She glanced at Peeta, wondering if he would remember what she'd told him of Panem society during his time staying in her house in Locrinia.

"I understand. The heir of the Mother of any house is her youngest daughter, born of the wisdom of her maturity rather than the naivety and thoughtlessness of her youth. The younger is always considered the more capable and powerful child." He paused. "Would your youngest sister be in charge now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because not too many years ago, a person who visited Panem came to Finnick's city with news. I tried not to hear – I stopped caring for this place when it stopped caring for me – but the news came of my family. All had fallen ill and died. My mother. My father. My sisters… every last one of them. Dead."

Joanna paused to take a deep breath, then continued. "And still, I cannot forgive them…

"When I reached womanhood at thirteen I already had two younger sisters, so I knew I would never be my mother's heir. But as her first daughter to reach womanhood, I nevertheless had certain responsibilities. The most important of those was to conceive a child within my thirteenth year. This did not trouble me, I longed for my own child, and as I had been bleeding at the change of the moon for the previous eight moons, I knew I was physically capable of conceiving. It was just that… it was just that my mother, Herron, the Anointed Mother, overrode my own choice of father for that child. She determined that I should conceive of a child by the Anointed Father himself."

"Your own father? That is allowed?"

"Under normal circumstances, no. But between the Anointed Father and a daughter of the House of Seeder? He would be the representation of Chaff to these people. I would be Seeder. It was the rightest thing they knew – Chaff and Seeder, together." She shrugged again. "I protested, but my protests were ignored. Both Anointed Mother and Father were insistent. They said my child would be special. Powerful." She hesitated. "The Anointed Father came to my bed one night, and there, despite my protests, he lay with me."

She closed her eyes for a moment at the memory, and her shoulders stiffened; hatred became her voice. "I tried to fight him off… but whatever power I had was useless that night. Peeta… I don't know, but there was something there that night that was so powerful that nothing could have stopped my father getting a child on me. Someone other than him was holding me down. Someone I couldn't see."

"Who?"

"Don't ask me that," Joanna hissed. "I don't know. If I knew I'd have killed them already."

"What happened with the child?"

"Tragedy. But before that, worse tragedy and the reason of my exile."

"How so?"

Joanna told him of how, at that moment when she'd felt her father spend his seed in her, the Anointed Father's power of Chaff had split in two, divided between the Anointed Father himself and the child he had just conceived on his own daughter. "This land depends on the combined power of Chaff and Seeder, the union of the male and female, to remain in health. At that moment when the Anointed Father's power split in two, Chaff's power was virtually destroyed, broken. This land might look rich and green to you, Peeta, coming as you do from an area less endowed, but it has been touched by blight."

Peeta remembered what he'd seen earlier in the day, the patches within the forest where diseased trees had fallen. "I understand," he said. "With the union disrupted, the land dies?"

"It sickens, certainly. And I was, and shall always be, blamed for it. Chaff's power had split, and even as my father lifted himself off my body, my mother rushed into the chamber moaning and shrieking and tearing at her hair" — Joanna's face twisted bitterly — "and shouting that I had cast a spell of darkcraft over both Chaff and this land. It was a disaster. There I was, weeping in pain and humiliation, there was my mother, shrieking that I'd laid a dark enchantment on the land, and there was my father, jiggling naked up and down beside the bed and wringing his hands and staring open- and dribble-mouthed at me as if I were darkness incarnate.

"From that point on this land has suffered. Twelve long years; Seeder barely managing without Chaff."

_That must have been what Clove meant, _Peeta thought, _when she said someone else had started the end of Seeder and Chaff before she did; she was merely picking up the task – by taking out what remains of Chaff within Joanna… and if she figured it out, what remains of Seeder within Katniss._

As horror crashed into Peeta, knowing that Clove would try to kill Katniss, Joanna continued to say: "I was not darkness incarnate. All I was, was a terrified thirteen-year-old girl, having just been raped by her father and with no more ability to weave darkcraft than I could command the tide to retreat. Someone had cast that darkcraft, but it was not me. Someone held me down and let it happen. Someone…"

_It can't be Clove. Twelve years ago I was still in my father's kingdom, and Clove was there with me._

"Who?" Peeta said, very softly, hoping she knew.

Joanna shook her head. "I don't know! My mother, I think. No one else would have had the power."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I'm just being spiteful, it probably wasn't her. Some god who hates Chaff? Some witch who wants Panem to suffer? Whatever the who and the why, soon my name was being spoken with revulsion by everyone in Panem. My mother kept me close while my belly swelled, not even letting me outside her house during those long, long months; she was terrified I might do something to lose the child, and that she would not allow. When my time came to give birth… by Seeder herself, Peeta, it was terrible. Worse than what Katniss went through. No one helped me, but my mother, and my very youngest sister, Lilac, stood there for all those long hours, watching silently. Because of that birth I will never have another child; the damage is irreversible."

Peeta laid a hand on her shoulder, knowing that she would accept no more than that small gesture of sympathy. If he dared show pity he did not doubt she would slap him, or worse. For her to share this story he could see it was trying enough and he did not want to ruin that.

"I tore apart with the birth, and as soon as my daughter was born, my mother leaned down and took her without a word or a look to me. The next day, still bleeding, I was delivered to the merchant who wived and bedded me within the day, and who bore me from Panem."

"Oh, gods, Joanna…"

"Now that I am back," Joanna continued as if Peeta had not spoken, "my name will be blacker than ever. I will be the evil Darkwitch who destroyed the land's well-being, and who decimated Chaff's power. At some point, I will be taken and killed. Whoever so be the Anointed Mother now cannot afford for me to have my say. I don't know who she is, not my family, but she will not risk herself like that."

"I will protect you – "

"I doubt very much if you will be able to protect me. Not here. Not in Panem."

"I _will_ – " Peeta tried again, remembering what he promised to Katniss.

"No, shush." Jo shoved at his side and he silenced. "Make no promises you cannot keep. I am at peace with this. If I had wanted to escape death, Peeta, I would not have come with your fleet."

"Finnick…"

"Do not tell Finnick. There is no point. And whatever you do, do not tell Katniss."

* * *

That night, before Peeta returned to his tent to an empty bed, he went in search of Katniss. He was exhausted, yes, but with all Joanna had told him, he did not think he would be able to sleep for hours, if at all.

As expected she was not in his tent. He checked the nearby tents of his advisors, and was surprised when he saw she was not in Finnick's. Uncertain now, his feet took him on a round of the remaining fires, but Katniss sat at none.

Too weary to continue to work off thought and logic, Peeta drew in a deep breath – and with it drew in a long dizzying amount of power; from her, and it smelt like her, like grass and pine, and natural oils. His feet followed a path his eyes could not see and he came upon her finally. Katniss slept on the ground, underneath the stars. There were furs underneath her, as she curled up under her blanket, a bundled shape held tightly against her breast, and Prim lay at her side with her head on her shoulder.

The two woman and their children were fast asleep, and Peeta sank onto a nearby log, observing.

_Had his impersonator today meant to alienate him from Katniss?_

_Or was the impersonator protecting Katniss from Clove's wrath?_

At least, from a wrath that would ebb until Clove realized Katniss was Seeder's power source.

He seemed no matter what he did, Clove wanted to harm Katniss.

It was futile! Protecting someone who was so much in danger!

He considered telling her about Joanna – then decided he couldn't without hurting Katniss, and at that point Katniss might not even listen to him. She wouldn't even believe him if he told her she was his and Seeder's power source… or even if he told her he loved her. She would likely think he was joking.

He left the sisters there, to return to his tent, and slipped quickly into an exhausted slumber.

When he dreamed, it was not of Katniss, or the stone hall, or the past, but of the short, dark-haired, dusky-skinned girl who he met in his father's kingdom when he was but fourteen, out in the stable yard.

Then she had been innocent; in the dream she was standing before him laughing, naked, her hands splayed over her round pregnant belly. As he stood staring, a conflict of emotions stirring in him, her belly swelled, as if months passed instead of moments, then Clove dropped to the ground, moaning.

She writhed once or twice in agony, then lay on her back and spread and lifted her legs, and strained to give birth.

Peeta moved, meaning to aid her, but she held up a hand to stall him.

Clove screamed, arching her back, and something slithered from her and lay between her legs.

It was not a baby at all, but a city.

It was New Troy, he knew, despite that how it appeared was disturbing. It was beautiful, extraordinary, white-walled, many-turreted, gleaming in the sunlight. A city such as the world had never seen before.

Clove raised herself on her elbows, and looked over her now flaccid belly to what lay between her legs.

"See what we have made between us, lover," she said. "The greatest city the world will ever know."

He dropped to his knees beside her shoulder, and leaned down and touched her cheek; acknowledging that this had been his dream as a boy, fifteen and lusting for his Trojan lineage to be as great as it once was. _Was it still so? _When he raised his hand, she said, "Other women may give you sons, Peeta, but only I can give you immortality."

_Only I can give you immortality…_

* * *

They robe through the forest, three men on low, sturdy, shaggy-haired dun horses. Under their light cloaks they wore finely woven woolen tunics, richly patterned and colored, over similarly fine woolen leggings. Knives were slipped under their belts, and at their hips swung swords of elegant craftsmanship.

One man, of some thirty years, was set apart from the other two by the fine bronze and gold jewelry he wore in his ears and at his neck and wrists. He had bronzed skin, dark hair and eyes, and a sensitive, thin, and clean-shaven face with light grooves running from nose to mouth. When he chose, and that was often under normal circumstances, he also had a brilliant smile.

Atop his physical comeliness, the man wore an air of moodiness about him, and a certain degree of mysticism, that, while complementing his sensitive face, seemed at odds with his warrior bearing and the hardness of his hands.

His name was Cinna, a proud younger son of an important House, and while he traveled toward the Trojans at the behest of the Anointed Mother, Clove, (and through her, the Anointed Father), his true allegiance was, grudgingly, to Brutus, with whom he had played as a boy, watched over as a youth, and confided in as a man. Cinna was loyal and true-minded if nothing else; even if Brutus could be brutal and overzealous he was taught by his mother to watch out for Brutus' thick-headedness for years.

His mission was twofold, to escort the leader of this vast fleet north to the Veiled Hills, where he might meet with the Anointed Mother and Father, but also to lead Joanna, the Darkwitch that destroyed Chaff, to her death. And by death, he meant, of course, Brutus.

Unbeknown to the Anointed Mother and Father, there was a third part to Cinna's mission…

After leaving Brutus and Clove that day, he'd gone straight to someone he knew would want to know about Joanna. Someone who would care to hear the news and not grow instantly enraged.

Twill was only twelve, and people often considered her ill-minded, but Cinna knew Joanna's daughter had a gift that others didn't. Twill was, after all, half of what the Anointed Father should be – someone with a connection to Chaff – and though most people considered her connection to Chaff unnatural because she was a female, Cinna could appreciate where he found his gods in any form.

And when he visited Twill, he was not surprised to know she already knew her mother was coming home. Twill was unconcerned about Joanna entirely, and spoke of another woman she'd dreamed of.

Apparently there was a woman among these strangers, a woman as any other, but who Twill said intrigued her. Twill told Cinna of her vision of the great fleet that was sailing toward Panem, and she had also told Cinna that her vision was constantly pulled back to watch this woman; "She has hair as black as yours and the saddest hardest eyes I've ever seen. And she intrigues me," Twill said, girlish voice soft and confused. "Something about her kept pulling my vision back to her when I had no mind for anything but for the size of the fleet. Cinna, can you find out for me what she has about her? What there is to her that I keep feeling but cannot see?"

Cinna had laughed, and made a light comment, but Twill had hardly even grinned.

"There is something strange about her, Cinna. Find out for me what that is."

* * *

Cinna pulled his exhausted horse to a halt, stared for a long moment at the hill rising in the distance, then slid from the beast's back, giving it a well-earned pat on its neck. He and his two companions, Flavius, a young and smooth-cheeked man, and Bladid, a much weightier and grim-visaged warrior who had a scar neatly bisecting the beard on his chin, had taken almost a week to ride this far. They'd changed their horses twice and sometimes three times a day at villages along their route, invoking the Anointed Mother and Father's names as security against the horses' eventual return.

Five days out they'd begun to hear rumors, and then firm reports, of a massive fleet of black ships that had entered the Dart River far to the south.

Terror was spreading among the tiny villages of southern Panem, and Cinna did all he could to reassure the frightened people: these newcomers were no threat, the Anointed Mother and Father knew of them, and knew how to control them.

At least, Cinna fervently hoped so.

He thanked Chaff and Seeder that there were no reports of fighting: these strange people had arrived, but were apparently content to hunt for food, and to establish a basic camp, and had not embarked on a rampage of terror through the forests surrounding the Dart.

This seventh day since their departure from the Veiled Hills had brought Cinna and his two companions to the very edge of the Dart River. Before him, although still some distance away, rose a great hill. Here, so Cinna had heard from reports and now could hear with his own ears, the foreigners had established their camp.

He turned to Flavius and Bladid; Flavius' face clearly showing his nervousness while Bladid's remained inscrutable, and he nodded that they should also dismount.

"We'll walk from here," Cinna said. "These black ship people will have warriors in the woods surrounding their camp, and doubtless we will be intercepted before long. If we are on foot, then we will the more clearly be seen as emissaries rather than attackers."

"I fear them," said Flavius.

"We all do," Cinna reassured, "but it weakens us to voice such fear."

Flavius' cheek reddened, but he bowed his head, accepting the fact.

"Our Anointed Mother and Father will direct them to our purpose," Cinna continued, now feeling a little sorry for Flavius, "rather than allow them to work against us."

Flavius raised his head, about to say something, when all three men jerked to a halt, their horses shying, and stared at the five men who had appeared silently on the forest path before them. Like the people of Panem, they were dressed in tunics that came to midthigh, but they wore no breeches or leggings, and the material of their tunics was of fine linen rather than wool.

They were well armed with both lances and swords — the like of which Cinna had never seen before — and had hardened leather circular shields, a curious device in their center, held on their left forearms by straps.

Their faces were strange, their skin swarthy, and their hair and eyes were very dark — a darkness Cinna had only ever seen in one other family before – Clove's. _This is what it means to be Greek and Trojan?_

Cinna risked a single step forward, spreading his hands well away from his sides to show his peaceful intent. "I have come to speak with your leader," he said, hoping the warriors would understand his intent rather than his words. "I mean you no harm."

The lead warrior grunted, as if he had understood what Cinna had said, then nodded, and beckoned the three men forward. Seven other warriors stepped silently out of the woods — Cinna had not even realized they were there — relieving the three native men of their swords and knives, and then the party set off, walking steadily toward the hill.

* * *

Cinna, Flavius, and Bladid were escorted to a clearing on the edge of the Dart. Here they were stopped while several among their escort went forward into the greatest mass of people Cinna had ever seen.

They were everywhere — the dark-haired, exotic-featured people of the black ships; Cinna had no means of estimating their numbers. The people swarmed the open spaces and the gently sloping side of the hill, while scores of ships crowded at anchor in the calmer sections of the river. In the days since their arrival they had managed to set up a basic camp — wooden shelters covered with rushes or branches, hundreds of campfires over which pots bubbled and meat smoked, women crouched at water's edge washing clothes and minding children, while herds of goats and sheep — even more exotic to Cinna's eyes than the people themselves — were corralled at the edges of the woods.

He was still gaping when he realized that the warriors were returning, and with them walked a man who Cinna instantly realized was not only this people's leader, but a man who wielded great god-power.

Cinna stiffened a little, and he felt both Bladid and Flavius shuffle in their discomfort.

The man continued to walk toward them, his face devoid of any expression. He moved with the strength and grace of a hardened warrior, and the slightly lighter, almost golden-tinged skin of his form gave him an almost supernatural glow; if nothing else, it told Cinna that the man was a king of some standing. He had very long curly golden hair – odd, considering his people were all manner of black and brown, but never blonde – and he wore a fine linen tunic of ivory belted about his waist with a belt of woven gold and silver threads. He was unarmed, not wearing even a knife for his food – a relief.

The man came to a halt two paces away from Cinna, regarding him with as much care and curiosity as Cinna knew he studied him.

"You have a fine cloak to hang over your equally fine tunic," said the man in the language of Panem, in a quite reasonable if not highly accented way, and Cinna jumped in surprise — he had expected to communicate with this stranger by means of hand signals and significant looks.

One among Cinna's escort of warriors handed Cinna's sword to this man, and he turned it over in his hands slowly as he examined it. "And your sword," the man continued, "is far better crafted than any I have ever wielded. Are you the Anointed Father himself, come to greet me?"

He turned slightly, handing the sword back to one of his men.

Despite all his caution, Cinna's face dropped in shock. He knew of the Anointed Father?

_Great Chaff, what else did he know?_

Clearly amused at Cinna's reaction, the man raised a blonde eyebrow, waiting for a response.

Then the man said, smiling as Cinna continued answerless, "I, as you see" — he held his arms out — "have come unarmed."

"Save for your knowledge," said Cinna, and stepped forward, holding out both his hands. "I am Cinna, son of Cecelia. I am not the Anointed Father, although I am here at the behest of both he and the Anointed Mother, and with their authority."

Peeta took Cinna's hands in his and gripped them tightly. "I am Peeta, son of Silvius, son of Ascanius, son of Aeneas, son of Aphrodite."

They dropped their hands, the ritual greeting done, and it was apparent that Cinna was clearly unimpressed with Peeta's lineage. "You come from a line of men?" He patently did not know — or was underawed — that Peeta had dropped in the name of a powerful goddess as the founder of his line.

Peeta tried not to smile. No doubt this man, who let his House Mother nag him at his hearth, found the idea of a house of men astounding. He nodded. "In my heritage," he said, "a family's name and honor is handed from father to son."

Cinna shook his head, then said, "My companions are Bladid and Flavius," adding their House affiliations, "and we have brought with us flasks of our honey wine, that we might greet you properly. Is there…"

"Somewhere to rest, and to sit and talk among all this crowd?" said Peeta. "Aye, I think I can find somewhere." He turned to his men, and continued to speak in Panem's language, telling Cinna that not only he but all his warriors spoke the language. "Hand back to our visitors their swords, and take their horses and water and feed them well."

The men nodded, and after Cinna, Flavius, and Bladid had retrieved their swords and the flasks of wine that had hung behind their saddles, Peeta led them toward the hill.

* * *

After they had reach its rocky summit, Cinna and his companions spent a long moment studying the crowds below them, and the infinity of black ships that were either moored in the shallows of the river or drawn up on the foreshore.

When he finally turned to Peeta, Cinna's eyes were bleak. "What do you here, with so many women and children and flocks of animals?" he said. He knew very well why the Trojans were here – at Clove's wish and need – but he wondered if Peeta would know as well.

"I will not lie to you," Peeta said, standing easy with one foot resting on a small rock before him. "We come here to make a home. We are Trojans, vagabonds for these past ninety-eight years. Now we will make our home here."

"Why here?" Cinna's voice had a hard edge to it – a rare thing – and Peeta could not blame him for that.

"The great Artemis, goddess of the hunt, has directed us here."

"This is the land of Seeder and Chaff," Cinna said, both voice and eyes now firmer. "Your 'huntress' will have no place within our forests and fens. We do not recognize your gods."

"Is that what your Anointed Mother and Father told you to tell me?" Peeta asked softly, holding Cinna's stare.

Cinna held Peeta's gaze for a few more heartbeats, then dropped his eyes to the flask he held in his hand, and managed a small and not altogether unnatural smile. "We have brought the welcoming wine," he said. "Will you sit, and share it with us, while I pass on the message I have for you?"

Slowly, infinitely slowly, he raised his dark, deep eyes back to Peeta.

For no reason at all, Cinna's movement and expression made Peeta recall Joanna's words about her undoubted death.

There was something here, a power, that was unknown to him, and Peeta knew that wariness and temperance would do more for his cause than any untoward display of arrogance and incaution. There was something behind Cinna, something powerful, and Peeta knew better than to tempt it forth now.

He needed to win for himself a kingdom among these people, and he would do it the more easily by listening than by shouting.

He nodded. "The sun is warm here, and I fancy that your wine will be more than welcome." He glanced to his left as footsteps sounded, and Marvel and Finnick joined the group of four men atop the hill.

Cinna instinctively tensed, then relaxed as he saw that the two men wore no weapons apart from small eating knives. Of the two man one was agile and muscular and with a deep wound scabbed on one side of his head, carving away his ear, and clearly a warrior, while the taller, tanner of the man looked more of a handsome and political type than the soldier – but he could see the man's strength, too.

Peeta introduced them to Cinna, Bladid, and Flavius, and motioned everyone to sit down.

Cinna unstoppered his flask of wine and took a long draught himself (_See, this wine is not poisoned_) before passing it to Peeta. "Drink," Cinna said, "of the welcoming wine, and as you do, I will speak the words I have carried so far south with me."

Peeta drank, managing to swallow without grimacing. The flask contained a rich, honeyed liquid, far sweeter than the wines Peeta was used to, and he gave Finnick a warning glance as he handed it to him.

Peeta hoped this land was warm enough to grow vines, because he didn't think he wanted to get too used to this syrupy draught.

Cinna cleared his throat, and when he began to speak, it was with the melodious rhythmic voice of a poet, so beautiful that Peeta had no doubt he could win any woman he wanted into his bed.

"Greetings, Peeta, heir of Troy," he said. "We wish you health and life, and we also wish you to know that we understand why you are here, and for what purpose: to rebuild Troy, on these our meadows and forests."

Peeta's face remained impassive, but those words confirmed what he had suspected for weeks: Clove has been preparing this coming somehow, and has succeeded. (And somewhere in his thoughts were those words; _only I can make you immortal. _They stuck and sent guilt through him, knowing she has been working so hard for the better of them, Clove has put effort into their plans, and Peeta hasn't.)

"We know your longing for a home," Cinna continued, "and for Troy so long dead, but we also need you to understand that your purpose causes our people and our gods great dismay. But rather than dismiss you, and ask you to leave we ask instead that you and a small band of your companions travel to the heartland of Panem there to meet with us, and to see if our mutual fears and needs cannot be mutually accommodated." Cinna's voice slipped back to normal. "These are the words of the Anointed Mother Father combined, united as the living representatives of the gods, and the unified voice of the people."

"They want me to travel to the Veiled Hills?" Peeta said, and saw Cinna's composure slip at the mention of Panem's sacred heartland.

"Yes," said Cinna, reasoning that most of Peeta's knowledge must have come from Joanna, and he figured that is how she won their friendship and instead of thinking of her as a traitorous bitch – as he knew Brutus would put it – he thought it resourceful of her.

"Just myself and a small band of my companions? What reassurance do I have that we will not be killed?"

Cinna managed a wry smile. "What guarantee do we have that you will not set your tens of thousands against us?"

All humor dropped from Peeta's face. "We have a mere few thousand warriors," he said. "The rest of my people are wives and children, the elderly, and untrained youth. As an 'invading force' we are severely hampered by those we need to protect. We defend, we do not attack. And we are not 'tens of thousands.'"

"You are more than we could ever hope to assemble in one place," said Cinna softly.

There was a cold silence as both groups of men stared at each other.

"Perhaps I may suggest a compromise?" Finnick said eventually.

Eyes swiveled in his direction.

"If Peeta and his companions travel into Panem's heartland, not knowing what they may find, or how they will be received," Finnick said, "then perhaps a small band of you own people, of similar standing, enjoy our Trojan hospitality here within Delltos camp."

"Reciprocal hostages," said Marvel, always blunt and to the point.

Peeta raised his eyebrows at Cinna. "Your younger companion, Flavius, can surely escort us to the Veiled Hills. Will you stay here, with Bladid?"

"You will need me to escort you through the territories between here and the Veiled Hills," Cinna responded. "Only my name and word can get you through. But your companion Finnick has suggested a good compromise. Although I cannot offer my family to dwell among you — they also dwell close to the Veiled Hills, and it would take weeks to send word and then for them to travel down to the Dart River — may I suggest asking the three Mothers of the three villages close to this location? As Mothers of their Houses and villages, they are greatly revered. No one would ever risk their lives, most certainly not either the Anointed Mother or Father. If these three Mothers agree, then, Peeta, will you and your immediate companions, as well your wives and children, accompany me back to the Veiled Hills? If we both risk our most valued and honored, then both surely will rest assured that peace will be maintained."

Peeta exchanged glances with Finnick and Marvel, then nodded. "I agree."

* * *

I continued to be enthralled by this new land. I, who once had never thought to be enthralled by anything, save Primrose and her immediate care! Yet here I was, with an infant in my arms I had once thought to loathe, and a sister in not a single remaining remnant of her Mesopotamian finery, living in an overcrowded camp that was growing muddier by the day — and I was so enjoying myself anyone would have thought me born in a meadow.

All except for that nasty business with Peeta. He put a damper on many of my days; seeing him watching me regretfully, seeing him speak with Finnick and Joanna as if what he'd said to me never happened. I knew being sullen or cruel to him was a waste of time, and I did not stoop so far.

It was merely that I ignored him; I let the relationship between us fall into an icy, formal place and the only time I actually spoke to him was when I went routinely to him once a day with Achates so Peeta may coon to him and carry him around for a time, before I took our son and was gone again.

He'd tried to apologize many times – but somehow I knew he'd purposely done what he'd done. At that point he'd had control of his black-eyed side for weeks and that flicker of blue at the end of his performance was all too true – Peeta had intentionally done that, to denounce me in a shameful way.

I decided I'd allow it; after everything we'd done to each other in spite and hate, I allowed him that, and I would suffer through it. It was well worth the freedom I earned. I never wanted to be his wife.

_So why had it hurt so much for him to do that? Was it the denouncement?_

_Or was it that he claimed to love another woman? And Glimmer, at that?_

If nothing less it became obvious Glimmer was a tool in Peeta's performance, because just the next morning of what had happened Finnick told me how Peeta told her he could not be his wife or queen due to her heritage. "What is she?" I'd asked, knowing I was Greek, and that if Peeta said her Greek heritage changed things…

"She's Greek, yes, but she's Spartan. New Troy will not have a Spartan queen."

"_Spartan? _I thought Sparta fell in the Catastrophe, with Athens. Their city and government are no more."

"Tis true that Spartan is no more, but there are those who escaped the destruction of their city. They live scattered as we Trojan were before Peeta came along. Slaves, most of them, trying to make do."

I sat contemplating that, when Finnick leaned to me and whispered: "Would you speak with Peeta –"

"He does not wish to speak to me, he made that clear. I do not want to talk to him. _Leave_ it!"

That was the last Finnick tried to influence me to forgive Peeta his 'mistake'. _How could it be a mistake if he changed to black-eyed Peeta at will? How could it be a mistake if he clearly used Glimmer as the tool the drive a knife right at home in my back? _However, I couldn't explain to anyone the manner of Peeta's eyes and sides, so it was moot to try and was easier to act as though the denouncement angered me.

Prim, who suspected a little of Peeta's two-sides, said one night as we lay under the stars, "Perhaps he did this for you? He didn't shame you, he shamed himself by turning on his wife and taking on a thrall. Perhaps he thought people who think the fault was in you if he denounced you in a quiet, casual way."

She was too sweet to be true and I pet her hair and thanked her for her theory, but I didn't buy it.

So I continued to ignore Peeta; but unfortunately by ignore I meant not speaking to him and not strictly speaking, keeping my eyes off him. Even if I was angry at him, and friendship seemed an impossibility, I still had to watch out for him; for Seeder's sake. Over the past few weeks that I forced myself to watch him from afar I had become more and more aware of his… well, of his desirability. I started to notice how other women watched him as well; they had noticed his magnetism as much as me, the way his skin seemed like real gold, and I also became aware that now that I was no longer his wife, the Trojan women treated me with less contempt, and were willing to aid me about camp.

And, of course, there was Seeder herself. Who felt present wherever I was on this land. Every night there was the dream of that stone hall (within I had been brought back to life) with the sweeping green hills and silver river of Panem beyond, and with it a sense of waiting for a great love to arrive, and that small girl who I could see playing from the corner of my eye And with the dreams ever-increasing frequency, each night it was more vivid, more real. And each time I swore I saw a little more of the man's face that I so loved. And yet, I could say with no certainty whom he was or was not.

I spent most of my days enthralled by the land – unconcerned for the time being for Peeta's immediate safety –, watching the trees and passing through the hustle and bustle of the river camp in a daze. In this state of mind I no longer resented Primrose for her ability to feed Achates where I could not; instead, I was relieved that I had free time when she was tucked away feeding Aurora and Achates.

It was so beautiful (just like my vision from the stone hall) that sometimes contemplation of it left me in silent awe. (And I was never a person to be easily impressed.) The country was not only unusual in its greenness, and the very exuberance of that green, but also in its soft light and comforting coolness. My own land, my girlhood home, had been clear and bright and harsh, the foliages more gray, the sun bolder. Here, tiny flowers that could never have survived Mesopotamia's hard light thrived in shallow crevices of rock and flowered in great ebullient carpets where the soil was deeper. The trees had the thickest of canopies, stunningly clothed in the reds and golds and russets of their autumn canopies: I spent many an hour while Achates slept in my arms watching their seductive dancing against the sky.

Thus it was that when Peeta announced that I would accompany himself, Finnick, Joanna, Marvel, and several others on a journey north to the Veiled Hills, I was filled with excitement just as much as dread. The fact that I was being taken as a virtual hostage against the Trojans' misbehavior, as Finnick explained to me, did not concern me very much; Panem's people did not scare me so much as Clove's eventual arrival. I was glad Peeta would still let me come, and I insisted Prim come too – and it was relented easily. There was travel and excitement ahead, and a chance to perhaps get myself further in love with this wondrous land, just as much as any potential danger and death.

It concerned me some that when I was brought forward that Peeta introduced me as his wife to the three men who were to escort us. I didn't openly object, since I was holding his son and he seemed uneasy with these people – perhaps he thought calling me his wife would help protect me; certainly it would ensure no mistreatment to me, nor my immediate companions in fear of angering him.

So I allowed it. And I did not know if it was out of habit of being called his wife, or because if I was being honest the people of Panem did actually intimidate me, and I would take all the insurance I could.

(But by no means did it change the formal void opened up between us.)

* * *

We left on our journey north some four days after Cinna and his companions had arrived to speak with Peeta. As we stood about, waiting for the small, shaggy Panem horses to be brought forward, I felt my spirits rise a little higher in anticipation. Prim was ecstatic, and rightly so, to her there was no Clove or Thresh or war of gods in the shadows, and her happiness brightened Achates and Aurora, and I couldn't not be touched by her beam. To add to the list of reasons to be cheerful, the sun was shining, partly negating the cool touch of the southerly breeze, and I was wearing a new robe I'd had time to make myself, a pale blue and black patterned woolen garment that was light and warm enough in this climate. And our party that, with Cinna and his two companions, Peeta, myself, Prim (the two infants slung across her back), Finnick and Joanna, Marvel and two other Trojan warriors, numbered only to thirteen which seemed positively diminutive in comparison of the huge Trojan fleet.

Only one thing bothered me (aside the stubborn (and disturbing) rate that I continued to be known as Peeta's wife): the reaction the people of Panem had to Joanna.

They completely ignored her, almost as if she didn't exist. I thought it rude, and went to comfort Joanna, but she waved me away, and said it was of no concern to her. I said I would speak to Cinna or the other two, but then her voice grew sharp, and she told me to leave well enough alone, and somewhat offended and affronted for only trying to help her, I wandered away.

* * *

Our party was finally ready to depart at midmorning, and to my dismay it ended up that Cinna was to aid me to mount my horse, a little dun mare with a thick black mane and tail. The opportunity gave him a chance to send me several admiring glances that I found faintly disturbing. I worried that he might take advantage of me as he lifted me to the mare's back, but he was most respectful, and his hands lingered no more than was fitting for the task.

"You are unused to riding on a horse's back?" he asked me as I shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes. I've never been on a horse. In my country women… in my situation did not ride. If I needed to go somewhere or if I needed to go somewhere in order to watch over my sister, then my king would order a chariot and charioteer to see to our needs." I realized that sounded a little pompous, so I added, "The chariots were bumpy, and dusty, so I disliked them greatly and often walked, if not left the palace at all." But that seemed even worse.

Cinna just laughed, lightly and soothingly. "You were a princess then?"

"Oh, no," I said, "only my sister." He nodded and left the topic lay at rest, but he was taking his time fiddling with my horse's halter, and eight or nine paces away I saw Peeta glance at us impatiently.

"You came from a large city, I have heard. All stone ramparts and walls."

"Yes." I regretted the shortness of my answer, but Peeta's regard made me think that perhaps I shouldn't extend this conversation any more than I could help. I remembered how Gale and Finnick sparked black-eyed Peeta, and though I did not doubt his ability to control that now, I didn't want to call down any ill will on Cinna – he seemed a calm and whimsical man, maybe ten years my senior.

Something on the halter suddenly clipped into place, and Cinna gave my mare's neck a pat to reward her for her patience. "You miss your home," he said. "Your stone ramparts and encircling walls."

"I used to miss my home greatly," I said, Peeta forgotten. "But now" — I looked about at the nearby forest and the hills rising away into the distance — "not at all. This land is too beautiful for me to linger over memories of the city where I was bred." I smiled, and was going to say something more to compliment Cinna on his homeland, but then Peeta rode up, and I dampened my smile.

"Is there a delay?" Peeta said, looking between Cinna and myself.

"Only in my clumsiness," I said. "Cinna was reassuring me that this fine mare will not toss me the moment we set off."

"Perhaps," Cinna said, "I could lead your wife's mare? She is not experienced in the ways of riding, and —"

"Yes, yes," Peeta said, nodding appreciatingly (as if my lack of riding skill had worried him at some point, too, and he had just now seen the solution to that problem). "That would be best."

He turned his horse, and began shouting at the rest of the group to move out.

I thought this a little inappropriate, as it was Cinna who was supposed to be our guide and leader on this ride north, but when I looked back to Cinna in some embarrassment and uncertainty, he merely lowered one of his eyelids in what might actually have been a wink, then took the halter rope of my mare, vaulted gracefully onto his own horse, and led me forward to join up with Peeta's well-herded group.

* * *

I gasped as the horse moved under me – it felt as if the earth itself was tilting this way and that, and despite being not far from the ground, every one of the little mare's strides seemed to take an aeon to stretch itself out. Worse, as discomfort flared through my lower body, was the sudden realization that I was going to end this day's ride very sore indeed.

"Everyone takes time to get used to a horse's stride," Cinna said to me, having turned to make sure I was still on my horse. "In a few days your body will have settled to your mare's pace and rhythm, and your joints will have loosened, and riding will become a greater comfort" — he paused, and I considered his eyes, and noticed for the first time stunning glints of gold shot through the brown — "than you could have thought possible."

I nodded a thanks to him, scolding myself for admiring a strangers eyes and concentrated mainly on burying my hands deep in my mare's coarse black mane, when my face flamed. Something, I have no idea what, made me wonder if in fact Cinna had been talking about two things: the riding of a horse, and the riding of a woman by a man.

I glanced back to him, to see what was on his face, but he had turned about, and kicked his horse forward to the front of the column, my own mare following obediently. For many hours after that he did not speak to me but for the occasional passing comment, and merely led me into wonder.

* * *

Although for this first part of our ride we passed through forest, the trees were not so close that I couldn't see through them, nor so dense that they blocked out the sun. This forest was not imprisoning, but liberating. We rode through the most delightful dappled light, and in glades and among the trees the most lovely of flowers blossomed. Above us warbled birds, the like of which I'd never heard before, and butterflies and great, brightly colored dragonflies that dashed from plant to plant, and high into the trees. If I half closed my eyes then the dappled light and the brightly colored insects darting this way and that combined into a wonderful kaleidoscope that lulled me into a state of such tranquility that I could almost believe that nothing bad had ever, or would ever, touch me.

Then the lurching of the horse would disturb my dreams, and my body would complain loudly, and I would grit my teeth and study Cinna's straight, graceful back to distract myself from the discomfort. He always seemed to sense whenever I felt my muscles ache, for he would always pull his horse back until we rode side by side, and engage me in pleasant conversation until my aches were forgotten.

Behind me Prim did not seem to be having so much trouble as I was on horse, as she chatted with Joanna, passing Achates often to Peeta to hold, or Aurora to Finnick to relieve herself the weight.

But whenever I turned and tried to be a part of the social at my back, I felt distant.

It was as if the forest and Cinna were all that were close to me, and I didn't quite feel dismayed.

* * *

So we continued.

For several days we journeyed through wooded country in a northeasterly direction. It was not always as beautiful as that first day's ride, for sometimes we rode through patches of woodland where the trees had died, and the grasses turned to mildewed mush. On these occasions, if I happened to see the faces of our escorts, I noticed that they were grim, and their usually laughing mouths closed into thin lines.

Usually, as we rode through these dark patches, Cinna would swivel about on his horse, his eyes seeking out Joanna, and send her a glance of such inquiry and mistrust that it left me breathless.

It was the only time that Cinna and the others ever acknowledged Joanna's presence.

The weather continued amenable, although it was cold at night, and I was glad for Prim's and the babies' warmth against my back and front, and the roaring fires that either Flavius or Bladid or one of the Trojan warriors tended throughout the night.

The horse's rocking gait and its slip-sliding spine continued very painful for the first two days, but after that I grew more used to my conveyance, and my muscles slowly ceased their grumbling.

Like a virgin who grows used to a man's intrusions… as Cinna had intimated.

For this period of traveling Achates continued mostly in Prim's care. After all, it was her breasts he fed from. Besides, she had a stronger back than mine, better for riding and it was better he traveled bound tight against her than against my teetering form. But at night when we dismounted, and in the morning, I was glad to hold him and caress him, and sing to him the songs that my nurse had sung above my own cradle.

After three days the landscape changed. The woods fell back until we traveled over gently undulating meadowland, filled with flowers and birds and the most heady, sweet scent that rolled down from the highlands to our west. Now we rode into the land of people, for every day we encountered at least one collection of round houses atop a small hill or mound, often surrounded by a palisade of wood, and always with a patchwork of fields encircling the village compound.

The villagers were unsettled by us, and whenever we approached, Cinna would hand my mare's halter rope over to either Bladid or Flavius and ride into the village. There he would reassure the villagers — I could always see their shoulders relax and their faces lighten as Cinna spoke to them — and he would request from them some provisions, which they always seemed to provide willingly.

As we waited for Cinna to return to our party, I would glance about at the village. All the houses were circular, their walls made either of stone or, more usually, wood or mud-packed wickerwork, with a single, low door for egress. They had no windows, and I thought that inside they must be smoky indeed, as the houses' thatched conical roofs had no opening for their occupants' cooking fires.

There were always flocks of sheep and goats and pens of massive, blotched, and ill-tempered tusked pigs. Often some of the beasts looked sickly, and I wondered what ailed them.

One day, I saw a sheep attempting to suckle a lamb with five legs, and I felt sick to my stomach, and grateful that Achates was such a beautiful and healthy child.

* * *

Two days into the meadowlands, we camped for the night a little distance from a clutch of tumbled rocks that held within their midst a hot spring. I could hardly believe my luck.

After five days of riding, even though the pace had been easy and we rarely moved the horses out of a walk, I felt filthy with sweat — not only mine, but my mare's as well, for she was much given to lathering and foaming. Finnick took one look at my face as I stared at the steaming pool some twenty or thirty paces distant, and laughed, and told me that I had time enough for a good soaking before our meal was ready.

While everyone else went about setting up camp I wandered over to the springs – insisting Prim join me; she wouldn't, she was tired, and only wanted to lay with Aurora – and I went to bathe alone.

It was bliss. I swear I almost tore off my robe in my haste to jump into the water — which jumping I instantly regretted as the overly hot water bit into my flesh. But within minutes I relaxed and closed my eyes, sighing with delight as I heard the distant sounds of people talking and working to set up our night's camp, and Joanna snapping at Finnick for trying to take an early taste of the meal she cooked.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw that Cinna was sitting on the opposite edge of the pool to me, watching me with a peculiar amount of curiously. He was still clothed, but for his sandals that sat beside him as he slipped his feet into the water, but something about his stare made me acutely aware of my own nakedness. "Am I intruding?" he asked, and the honey of his voice washed the unease away.

There was no reason Cinna should make me nervous. He wasn't a man like that.

"No," I said. "Considering this is your homeland, I should be asking you that."

"I can't claim to own every hot spring," Cinna said. "And you were here in your own peace."

"You haven't disturbed it." Then, thinking of how nice the water was, and how long it may take us to actually reach the Veiled Hills, I asked, "Are there often hot springs in Panem?"

"Not too often. But there are many ponds and pools scattered throughout the countryside, and just as many streams… all are considered sacred."

"Why's that?"

"Our mother goddess is an earthly creature, closely tied to water. Water is considered the veil between her domain and our world. Expecting mothers oft go to these ponds to birth or bathe in in hopes of health and happiness for their child. Or a childless woman can seek out the waters to lay in and pray for fertility. Fatherless men can do the same, but they usually –" Abruptly Cinna cut off, blinking for a moment before he shook his head. "Here I am, telling a complete stranger the sacred rituals of my people. What has come of me?" He didn't look wholly upset though, because he was grinning.

"Well this complete strange finds your rituals intriguing," I said, truly meaning it. "They're… less brutal and bloody than the rituals of my people's old beliefs. The Olympians were ruthless gods."

Cinna leaned back on his palms, back arched and his face tipped up toward the last rays of sunshine of sunset. It struck me for a moment how very much like this land he was – powerful, mysterious, haunting. "I could tell you more, if you're willing to listen," he said.

"I'm willing." I pushed myself off the rock I had sat myself on and waded over to his side of the hot spring. I stopped at a spot not too far from him, resting my arms on the outer ring of rocks, and my chin on top of them. "Seeder has always…" _What was the right word? Would he believe me if I told him I've met his beloved mother goddess? _"She's always seemed very… loving. And forgiving. My old gods were never forgiving. I do not think they were even capable of feeling anything beyond wrath and lust."

But then I remembered Hera, when she cradled my face in her hands, and I knew what I said was a lie.

"Aye, Seeder is very loving, it's her nature… I do not think she's capable of hate."

"You do not think? Or is that what you choose to believe?"

"I know she isn't," Cinna said, his eyes opening again, gazing up at the sky. "It's what we learn, what we all witness throughout our life in Panem – Seeder is a mother beyond all else." His eyes drop to mine and the sunlight illuminates the gold in them; the gild slithering through the brown and making them a strange and beguiling honey color. "And do you know what makes a mother the best mother?"

"Love?" I guessed.

"_Unconditional_ love," Cinna corrected. "No matter where you're from, what you've done, if you've hurt a stranger, someone you love, or someone Seeder loved, she does not see that. First, she sees you, and she accepts you. The rest is trivial – it doesn't matter, because if you need a refuge, she is it. If you need a haven, she will be it. If you need a friend, she's already yours. If you are lost, she is your home."

For a moment I say nothing, soaking in his words, unable to tear my eyes from his. Something in me _buzzed _at the sound of what Cinna had said, hearing the complete love and devotion to his mother goddess in his rich voice. I could not think of any appropriate reply. And when I finally drew in a deep breath, I managed to say, "Will you show me some time? These ponds that are so sacred?"

His entire face and eyes softened with his smile. "I can." Then he plucked his feet from the water and slipped on his shoes again, "But not now, cause I can see Prim heading our way, calling for dinner."

I nodded, and by the time Prim had indeed arrived at the hot spring, a clean robe for me over her arm, Cinna was gone.

* * *

The next day's travel on horseback was extra lazy. I could tell that the others didn't notice how little land we covered by the end of the day, but I was very aware that throughout the ride Cinna had ridden at my side without pause, telling me wondrous tales of his homeland and his gods, of which I found each new one more enthralling than the last and whatever hesitation he felt about sharing them had disappeared fully, and with that he forfeit at least four or five miles of headway.

_Was there a reason he slowed our progress?_

Evening was just passing when Cinna claimed we'd bed down for the night. Peeta suggested we go on a bit longer, but Prim interrupted him and complained of a slight cough and fever Aurora had developed throughout the morning and, though unwilling to waste time, Peeta relented to staying; he was often soft toward my sister and would not refuse much of what she asked and for that I was glad.

We ate an early dinner, and I had to force Prim to sit and finish her portion, because all she wanted to do was cling to Aurora and pet her daughter's fussing brow.

After dinner we sat about the fire, Marvel and Peeta talking plans, and I warmed my hands, watching Prim from the corner of my eye. She lay some distance from us underneath a few trees in the nearby woods. I handed a sleeping Achates to Peeta – in fear he catch what Aurora has – and went to sit with my sister.

As I lay beside her I saw she was crying, silently. "Prim, what is it?" I drew her into me on instinct, Aurora tucked between us. The child's skin was hot to the touch. "Is she worse? Many babies get sick in their first months, ear aches, coughs, it will pass, surely."

"I know," Prim said, sniffling. She wiped haphazardly at her tears with one hand. "What if…"

"Cinna says there's a village coming up soon and they have healers. They'll get something for her."

"How close? The village?"

I thought about this, what she might be thinking. "Aurora will still be alive tomorrow, when we com–"

"What would you do if Achates got sick? If _I_ got sick? Can Cinna get me to this village tonight?"

"Prim, you're overreacting. Aurora has a slight cough, and babies–"

"What do you know of babies?" And I was surprised by the sharpness of her tone. I sobered, determined not to be stung by it and when I overlooked her, I saw not the little princess she'd been, but a stubborn mother who would protect her child just as fiercely as I wished to protect her.

"I know a lot, actually," I said. "Who do you think raised you? You had ear infections all the time."

_And it was hardly enough with Mother laying on her back all day to pay for you medicine._

But I wouldn't let her know that, and I knew it was worth it; if my mother hadn't been willing to do any means necessary to help Prim I would have. She was so precious then, small enough to tuck in my robe, blonde and pale and so unlike any other Dorian Greek I'd ever seen – everyone wanted to see the strange royal child my mother had given birth to after the king had visited the whorehouse in a daze.

She was special, even then.

It wasn't until the king made Primrose his heir that they actually cared to help us though.

I sighed when Prim remained unable to reply and I kissed her brow. "I'll talk to Cinna."

* * *

Cinna looked troubled when I asked him if there was any way we could reach the village tonight and get the medicine for Aurora.

"Is she seriously ill?" he asked, concerned, eyes wary.

"No, but Prim is distraught and it can't hurt to get the child what she needs sooner, can it?"

He glanced uncertainly at the rising moon, and then toward the camp; from this distance we could just make out the fire everyone sat huddled around. If we stayed too long in the tress one of them might be motivated to seek us out – and I shuddered to think what they might think we were doing.

_Especially Peeta…_

"I can do it," he said, finally. "But we must leave the moment the rest are asleep if you hope to make it back here by dawn. We'll have to walk, bringing the horses will be noisy, and… you're certain you want to do this? I can't bring the others to the village, the headwoman will not be pleased, but if it is just you and a sick child, she will relent easily enough. Your husband will not be upset?"

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly why Peeta had no right to be concerned, when movement in the trees behind Cinna's back caught my eyes. I froze, and reached out an instinctive hand to grasp Cinna's forearm – he froze as well, and said my name, multiple times, trying to call me back into focus.

But I moved passed him and pushed through a row of bushes, going further into the forest.

I could have sworn there was _someone_…

A tall figure stepped out from a tree and flitted to the right and I jerked into motion to follow, only to be stopped by Cinna's grip on my shoulder.

"Katniss, it's dangerous to go off in the forest alone," Cinna said.

I wanted to argue. There was a man, I saw him, the shape of him. I knew it. _Was that red hair I'd seen?_

I shook myself. Perhaps I was seeing things.

_Or maybe I wasn't and I should be more wary toward strangers in the woods._

I frowned and turned back to Cinna, whom still looked concerned.

"I'll wait for you to collect me, and I'll have Aurora with me. Thank you for this," I told him and brushed passed him toward the camp fire.

* * *

Later that night when the moon was at its peak, a shadow fell over me where I lay pretending to sleep and murmured, "It's time."

I got up without hesitation, slipping Achates from my side and picking up Aurora instead. She was asleep, but her breathing was shallow and harsh, and the forehead she had pressed into the skin of my neck was _burning_. "She's worse," I whispered, stepping over a sleeping soldier, and Cinna pressed a finger to his lips.

He pointed toward the west. I got the message; _silence, until we're well away._

Luckily he'd volunteered to take first watch, and thus, there were no guards there to ask us where we were off to. I might have felt bad about leaving the others unprotected, but I was assured by Cinna that there was no danger here. A guard was more to keep the fire burning than to warn them of coming danger.

Even so, I felt a burning in the back of my throat as I snuck passed Peeta's tent.

It felt strange to travel under the stars and treetops, without Peeta. It wasn't that I _missed_ him, it was that… I had not been anywhere without him nearby or glued to my side in nearly a year. It felt strange, and a little exhilarating, but I also got a peculiar edge of anxiety. How could I protect him with the physical distance between us? How could he protect me? And did I really need it? Did I really want to be leeching from his protection forever? He was no longer my husband, and therefore did not owe me protection anymore; I was no longer his wife and should not feel tied to him – so why was I feeling this?

Sometimes it seemed the only thing that kept us close was Seeder. And then I remembered the feel of his hands wiping the blood from my face, the pain a live-wired agony coursing through my body as tears slid down his cheeks… and I knew that there was a reason. There was a reason he still needed me.

And even if I didn't want to admit it, since I was still angry at him over the Glimmer incident… I still needed him, too.

* * *

"The mother of this child was right to want immediate care," the village's Headwoman said upon being handed Aurora. "The child would not have lasted tomorrow through. She's got pneumonia."

"Can you help her?" I asked.

Cinna stood beside the Headwoman, whom stood blocking the doorway of a circular house dwelling. Inside I could see the woman's family; daughters, sons, a toddler at the hearth. All of them were staring openly at me, either suspicious and wary, or curious and intrigued. None were hostile, thank the gods.

"I can do what I can," the Headwoman replied, softly, and turned to go inside. I made to follow, but Cinna put an arm in my path. "No, it's alright, Cinna," the Headwoman said, "I invite her in."

He dipped his head, and murmured to me, "You are not allowed to enter houses here without the express permission of the House Mother. This is good to know for the future, remember it." Then he came in, and one of the daughters came forward and offered Cinna a hug and warm broth.

I sat nervously on a bench near the hearth, watching the Headwoman and one of her daughters work over Aurora. They were rubbing her bare chest, and one was humming, because the infant had woken, and began coughing, the sound thick and sickening. A son stepped over after crushing and mixing herbs that I did not know, and he solemnly smeared the concoction on Aurora's lips. She made a face at the taste, but the man kept wetting her lips until near all of the mixture was gone.

I was offered warm broth and kind words, even promises of Aurora's well-being, and I shrugged all of them off, too worried now for Aurora. _What if Prim hadn't insisted and we got here noon the next day? Would Aurora have been too sick to help, then? I am glad I decided to listen to her in the end._

Cinna came to sit beside me after a while, perhaps an hour. His arm snaked around my waist and I leaned into his shoulder, not minding the comfort he offered. It was only when I noticed the cautious, uncertain… almost frightened glances between the family members that I realized the way we were sitting was causing the family some sort of great unease. A troubled daughter eventually sat on the other side of me. She was my elder by at least seven years and pregnant some five months. Upon sitting she fumbled to take my hand, and in a greeting that I assumed was common in Panem, she kissed my cheek… and waited patiently until Cinna murmured to me to return it, which I did so reluctantly.

"My name is Jeyne. Cinna tells us you are Katniss… wife and queen to this giant Trojan fleet that has landed on our shores." Jeyne paused, looking down at her hand in mine. "He tells us that you are basically the fleet's Headwoman, in a sense, and… I wonder why you come here. We all do."

"We come to make a home."

"Have you lost your old one?"

"We all have. Trojans did a very long time ago… I am Greek, and I lost mine much more recently."

Her forehead creased with thought. "Why here? Why must the new home be here?"

"There is no must," I said, thinking over my words carefully. "But there is a wish to. We travel to speak with your Anointed Mother and Father, and mean to ask permission, not to take this land by force. It a beautiful land, more breathtaking than any other land I've ever seen, can you blame us for wanting to make a home here?"

A small smile played on her lips as she looked up at me. "No, I guess I cannot."

"You speak our language rather well," commented a boy of no more than ten years, sitting nearby.

"I learned from a great teacher –"

I meant to mention Joanna, but Cinna's arm around me tightened to silence me and he leaned around my torso to smile his charming, honey-melting smile at the two. "I've been helping her," he said.

"I wonder why you would do such a thing," the Headwoman said, walking over. Her face had seemed hard and scornful at first, as she stood in the doorway gazing uneasily at Aurora and I, but now it had smoothed over and her smile was gentle beneath dark witty eyes. "It wouldn't have to do with the fact that we have never seen such a beautiful woman in this village, let alone yours, Cinna, would it?" Jeyne laughed at my side, unoffended that she was called less attractive than me. Cinna rolled his eyes, as the woman added, "I know we may not use the term husband here, but I just hope you still understand what it entitles. Clove will not be –"

I felt as though someone wretched my stomach out of my body, and I pushed myself away from Cinna to stare unbelievingly into the Headwoman's eyes. "Clove! How do you know of that name?"

"Why, Clove is our Anointed Mother," the Headwoman said.

I'm afraid I sat there gaping at her, my mouth open, as a wave of horror washed over me.

"Katniss?" Cinna said, gently. The rest in the hut shifted uneasily, confused. "What is it?"

"I have to go." I stood, and snatched Aurora from the healing boy's hands.

"Katniss, wait. What is the matter? What do you know of our Great Mother? You recognized her name?" Cinna blocked my way out of the house, arms spread. "Is it Joanna? Did she tell you of Clove?"

I shook my head, trying to move around him. "No. I must go." _I have to tell Peeta of this._

_I have to know if he knows._

"Whatever Joanna told you is a lie," Cinna said, urgently, ignoring what I said. "Clove is an honorable–"

I half-shove, half-shouldered by him, unable to listen to that – the Clove I knew tried to kill me, tried to kill my son, had poisoned my husband – and when he grabbed my elbow I threw back the opposite one, catching his face. He let me go with a cry of pain. I broke into a sprint.

"Katniss! Wait! You don't know these woods!"

I kept running.

* * *

I ran as quickly as I dared down the nearest hill, pushing my way through the throngs of low-laying vegetation, the tree branches whipping at my face and hair. I ran until air was a knife in my throat and Aurora was screaming, not just mewling her distress. I ran, sure that Cinna was just behind me.

I ran until my robe caught on a thorn bush, and I lurched forward. I quickly shifted my shoulder to take the blow, tucking Aurora tightly into my chest, and I waited for the jar of our bodies hitting the earth –

It never came.

A hand had caught my elbow.

I thought it Cinna, and I was about to whip around and shout at him to leave me be. I didn't want to hear his accusations of Joanna, nor did I want to know about Clove (not any more than I had heard of her, at least), but I realized it wasn't him before I even turned. The hand on my arm pulsed with heat.

"Careful," a rasping voice said, and his hand shifted to brush around my shoulder, and reach into the bundle of blankets in my arms, touching Aurora's sweet face – instantly her cries died. "She's fragile."

I dared a glance over my shoulder, and instantly regretted it. The man was standing too close for comfort, his nose inches from mine. He wasn't much taller than me, so that didn't help much, and his eyes were trained on me, not Aurora. They were a blazing orange; yet seemed to shift before my eyes, from orange to yellow, to a burnt auburn, the red chasing faint hints of green and purple that fared randomly, the colors churning, flickering in and out of existence. It took me a moment to realize his eyes were imitating fire, and that his _whole body_ pulsed with that strange heat in his hand on my elbow.

His hair was shock red. And I knew instantly this was the man I'd seen flitting in the trees earlier.

"You've been following me," I accused, voice barely above a whisper.

"Not you," he said, and despite his intimidating eyes, his voice seemed boyish. "The child." And then he smiled, and tipped his face forward, his fever-hot cheek lying against mine as his eyes slid to Aurora, "But I _have_ noticed you. I thought you were plotting to steal this child from its mother with that man and seeing as I was tasked with this child's protection… you can see why I'm here."

A shudder worked through my body at the feel of his laying against the length of mine, his cheek was smooth, and breathing in his scent made me feel intoxicated and dizzy; the smell was of charred pinewood, campfire smoke, and burnt cinnamon. "What do you mean?" I said. "Protect this child?"

_This is Prim's child, and who would task anyone with the task of protecting her?_

Of course, I realized this was no mortal man. I could not name which god he was until he stepped away from me and I turned to look at him fully in the face, and I noticed that one of his legs was twisted oddly. There was only one god whom was a cripple and whom was closely related to fire; Hephaestus, son of Hera and Zeus, god of fire, blacksmithing, volcanoes and much of the same craft.

_But the old gods… they're supposed to be dead! _I thought frantically, keeping my neutral face. _Perhaps when Peeta said him and his pact killed the Olympian gods, he meant only the main ones… and that most of the lesser… most of their children… still ran free, weakened by the loss of their king, but there._

_And vengeful?_

"Hephaestus?" I dared to ask.

"False," the man said, and my shoulders slumped in relief – perhaps they were all dead, after all. In truth of my thought, the man continued to say, "Hephaestus is dead. But I am Darius, his replacement. I am Enlightened."

_He is a part of Peeta's pact, and Peeta said he had only one friend among them – Delly._

_Would someone in the pact attack me to get at Peeta?_

"And what are you doing here?" I asked Darius.

"I told you, I was tasked with this child's protection."

"By whom?"

He smiled, and his eyes sparked, the wisps of purple roaring for a moment, the fire in his eyes burning bright and impossibly hot. With that turn of his lips, the smile mischievous and child-like in nature, his face rounded out slightly, the cheeks flushed like a wind had whipped the skin raw, and he looked like the personification of the autumn season; the orange and yellow leaves falling, the sunlight thin and rare and precious. "Why," Darius said, playfully, "if I tell you that, then I'd be giving away the game."

"What game?"

"Why, the game of gods, of course. Have you never played?" He turned his head, coy, considering me, those eyes sweeping over my body. "You'd make a great player, I think. Perhaps I'll teach you how to play." And with that he moved closer, his body possessing more grace than it had any right to have, with his leg the way it is. His hands were suddenly on my hips, gripping them tightly, and his breath on my face scorched my skin. "Have you ever seen the world from above? I can show you."

A sensation similar to what happened to my body when Peeta transported us from the stone hall to the beach came over me; my stomach dropping, my breath escaping me, the world going off-kilter for a heartbeat. Then the whirling colors and blackness around me settled. I stood somewhere else.

I was no longer in Panem, and because of that I felt as though two pieces of myself were suddenly gone.

I shivered, not entirely dismayed at the loss of these pieces.

Darius let me go and turned from me, walking calmly – limping, I suppose – through a set of wide double doors. We stood before some sort of dome-like building, the mere size of the place overwhelming and intimidating, and as I stumbled inside after Darius… we entered a room lined with thrones. "We're at Mount Olympus," I gasped, tightening my arms around Aurora in surprise.

"Aye," Darius said. "Thresh abandoned the place for something else. This is my place now." He smiled, and gestured around, at the eerily empty thrones. "All those who could sit in these are either dead or dying, and since… well, Hephaestus made these thrones, and it's only right I claim them again."

It was strange, the dome-room, the ceiling plunging high above us and echoing his voice. Between each throne set about the room were columns. And if I cared to narrow my eyes and examine the ceiling, I would see that it had breathtaking images painted across its surface. Instead, I examined the thrones, each one different from the last, each one representing its owner; Zeus' was the largest, made of gold, rather than the usual white marble, and Artemis' had vines of ivory leaves curling around the armrests.

I got the sense that something powerful once happened here, something monumental.

And with it came a sense of loss, that something was also lost here, in bloodshed and war.

"Take me back," I said, shivering again.

"Soon," Darius said, then moved to sit in the middle of the dome. "Come here."

I walked reluctantly closer. Darius sat before a circle carved into the marble floor, and as I sat a few feet from his side, he touched the middle of the circle, and what was at first white marble, was a rippling image. He muttered something in a language I did not know, and the image changed.

It became an image of Primrose.

"Her," Darius said, pointing. "She's who I'm protecting, along with the child."

"Why? That's my sister –"

"Your sister? I think not."

I felt as if he'd struck me. "Of course she's my sister."

"Does she look Dorian to you?"

"Her coloring is strange, I know but she –"

"Sure, you're both Greek, but this one –" he gestured to Prim's image "– she is clearly from Argos."

_Argos? Hera's city? _"No, that's impossible. I was at her birth!"

"Were you though? Were you really?" He was being playful again.

I was frustrated by his easy-going way. "Of course I was really there. How else would I be?"

"Well, I was there at her birth, too. Well… not me, but Hephaestus, and though he hated her, and he hated his mother –" he gestured to his mangled leg; referring to how it was near his mother's fault, Hera's, for crippling him – "I don't hate his mother, and I am willing to listen to her… and Hera has begged of me for protection. Thus, my sister, Primrose is in need of protection."

I reeled for a moment. "_Your_ sister?"

"Aye. Primrose is a daughter of Hera. I am a son, or well, the god who I am now was her son." He shrugged at the minor details. "Besides, at this point, Prim is also Hera's power source."

"No… Primrose has nothing to do with this stupid pact of yours." I stood, wanting to deny everything this man is telling me. I shook my head, clinging to Aurora. "Prim isn't Hera's anything…"

"Prim will be all that Hera was, very soon. The moment Hera dies, she will pass her gift on to Prim."

"Prim can't get in this mess!" I said, worried, because for some reason, I knew what he said was true. I remembered seeing Primrose lately, how golden and stunning she seemed to look at every moment of the day, no matter what state of array she was in, her unfailing strength these past few months and her good health, her bright, wide eyes and unweaning smiles… "She can't get in this mess…"

_How am I supposed to protect Prim from Clove and the other Enlightened, and Peeta as well?_

Darius stood, the image in the marble circle fading away into another focus. I looked there, instead of Darius' burning eyes, and the scene was of Peeta, frantic, talking to an equally dismayed Cinna.

"Is this the present?" I asked, gesturing to the sight.

Darius nodded. "Aye, your Hades knows I took you." He tapped his temple. "He's shouting up a storm."

"You can hear him… in your head?"

"All gods or goddesses who have made a power source have unlimited, anywhere access to the web."

"And by web… you mean a connection of your minds?"

"Aye. He's blaming Thresh for this. He doesn't know about me… I don't think he's met me. Seeder is just as frantic to have you back on earth. While you're not there, it weakens them…" he found that intriguing, and he was enthralled by the image of Peeta roaring at his officers to search the woods for me.

I felt a twist of unease in my heart. "Weakens them? Me not being on earth weakens Peeta and Seeder?"

_I'm not on earth? Does this temple atop Mount Olympus not count as earth? It must be a realm._

"You're their power source, it makes sense. You have to be in the same realm to be of use to them."

I was being told too much in one night. First, I learned Clove was the Anointed Mother, the leader, of the new wondrous land I thought to be my new home, and second, I found out that Primrose was a daughter of the goddess Hera, and was currently Hera's power source, but soon, if Darius was to be trusted, Hera would fade finally into death, and leave behind her gift in Primrose. At what point will she become the queen of gods, no longer a mortal? How does she use the gift to create a power source?

And then, if that was not enough, Darius told me I was the power source to two gods.

Peeta's power source and Seeder's as well, Cinna's beloved mother goddess, whom I'd felt so close to..

_Was that why? Was the reason Peeta kept me so close because… of this?_

"Take me back. I have to go back."

Darius frowned, looking dismayed. "You won't stay? Even for a little while?" When I shook my head, I thought he would be angry, or worse, saddened, and instead he smiled, that playful one. "Okay… I'll take you back," he said, "_if_ you give me a kiss." As I stared at him, stunned and uncertain, one of his hands ruffled his hair, almost nervously. But there was confidence there too, and I _hated_ the confidence.

"No."

"Fine." He shrugged and flicked a hand toward the circle – the image disappeared, leaving only white marble again. "Stay here with me forever if you want. Neither Seeder or Peeta can access this place."

I tightened my arms around Aurora. "We'll starve."

"I can feed you." He seemed at ease, limping toward a throne to sit.

But he paused on his way there, running a hand through his hair, deep in thought.

I had hoped he was planning on taking me back, calculating the risks of keeping me prisoner.

Instead once he made a decision, he looked at Aurora over his shoulder. "I should take her to be healed."

"She stays with me."

"Don't worry, I'll be back," Darius said, ignoring my words, and where Aurora once sat in my arms, there was empty air. Where once Darius stood, there was nothing; I was alone in the dome.

"Come back! Bring her back to me!" I shouted, my words hitting the ceiling and echoing uselessly.

I kept shouting, calling for Darius, for Peeta, for Seeder, and threatening Darius the utmost pain if he did not bring Aurora back to me in perfect shape. I paced the length of the room, shouting until my throat burned, and my threats and pleas were nothing more than mewls. There was never an answer.

When words failed me I grew frantic at the thought of the emptiness around me, at being trapped here literally forever at this god's behest. I threw myself at the double doors, but they would not budge – and I did not truly expect them to be unlocked – so I began to fling my fists against them, until each time my hands struck the marble a jolt of pain traveled through my arms. _"Darius!" _I screamed, furious.

"Yes?" came a voice behind me.

I spun on my heels, nearly tripping over my robe. "Gods! Don't do that!"

"Well, you called for me," he said, opening his arms and gesturing to himself. "Here I am."

I clenched my jaw. "Where's Aurora?"

"With a healer. She'll be back in a few minutes. But while the children are away, maybe we can discuss this kiss again, huh? We have some privacy now…"

"You stay away from me!"

"Awe, playing hard to get?" he said, and I blinked only once, and he was gone.

I felt a trickle of unease and I made to scramble backward, but stepped right into his chest. His laughter came low in my ear, his chest against my back shaking with his mirth. "Looks like you touched me."

I jerked away and spun around to face him. "Don't do that either." But my voice was less steady than it was before. Darius took a step closer, and I took one back, and it continued that way for some time.

"You know, if you wanted to dance with me, you could have asked," he said, when I made to move left again, and he matched me step for step – though his were shuffled and his crippled leg dragged. "I can't say I'm much of a dancer, really, but for you, I think I could make an exception. For a kiss."

"What will get this through your head? I. Will. Not. Kiss. You."

_I made a deal with a god before, and he never kept it._

_I told Peeta I'd marry him if he left my home and people untouched – and he'd lied._

_What if Darius doesn't stand by his words? Then I'm a kiss short, and still stuck._

Suddenly, Darius' eye went out of focus. "Peeta just called on Thresh. He knows you weren't taken now… well, at least he doesn't think so. He just thinks your unconscious somewhere in the woods."

"Would me being unconscious make sense as to why he can't feel me as a power source?"

"Partially." Darius shrugged, unconcerned. "He knows you're not dead, because he'd be feeling pain then. He's blaming that one man you were with before, for letting you run off into the woods alone."

"Cinna?"

"Sure."

I hated to think what Peeta would do if he could not find me. What he might start with the people of Panem, or with Cinna – kindly, honey-eyed Cinna – and I stepped closer to Darius, beseeching. "You have to take me back. Primrose needs me just as much as the others and you promised to protect her!"

"Primrose doesn't need you. All a mortal really needs is food, water, and shelter. I have provided her with all that. And I have provided her daughter with healing means. I'm actually doing quite well."

When I found not reply, Darius moved closer, resting a hand on my side. I shoved him away, and he stumbled, surprised. "Stay away or I swear the moment I'm out of here, I'll have Peeta kill you!"

Something flashed across his face; something like fear. "Don't struggle," he said, and pressed closer.

His hands made for my throat, and I struggled despite his words.

I kicked and tried to use my hands and nails to fend him off.

"Katniss!" he hissed at me, struggling right back. "Hold still, please! I'm not going to hurt you!"

Suddenly, he wasn't there. I lurched forward, since I had been trying to throw myself at him to unsteady him on his bad leg, and I nearly fell over to the floor. But again, Darius caught my elbow before I could, straightened me, and when I turned he was gone. Something touched my back; I turned.

Nothing.

I spun around, and he was nowhere in the room. That I could see. "Show yourself!"

He did. In front of me, lean shoulders slumped. He held something out to me. "Here"

"What's that?"

"I was trying to put it on you, but you struggled. I made it for you."

I raised an eyebrow. "You… made me something?"

He shrugged. "I never have to make anything. Thresh never wants me to make him things, and the other Enlightened haven't thought to ask for things. I get bored. Like I said, I noticed you, always there, beside Prim. In Mesopotamia, and on the ship, and in this new land. I just… I don't know. Stupid idea."

The thing in his hand was a beautifully crafted necklace; thin gold chains tangled together in an artful way, some straying so that if a woman wore it the chains would spread over her collarbones, until they all met in the middle, where a solid golden circle pendant hung; on the pendant etched in a precise hand was a twisted olive tree, branches arching under the weight of an owl, both symbols of Athena.

For a moment I couldn't find words. He made that for me? The god – in a sense – that once built Zeus' throne, that built Achilles' armor, that gave Hermes his golden winged shoes, made me something from his forge that made only the best wares for the Olympian gods? I was both wary and flattered.

"Is it enchanted?" I asked. I knew the tale of Hephaestus' revenge of Hera. After he was exiled from Olympus he sent her a throne enchanted so that once she sat, she could not get back up. Thus he was un-exiled, so that he may free her – a very manipulative thing to be done. Darius may not be the same person as Hephaestus, but I was by no means going to trust him, cripple and boyish as he was.

"No," he said. "None."

"Why the symbols?"

Darius looked dismayed again, looking at the necklace. "Was I wrong?"

"Wrong about what?"

"Are you not…" Darius cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought…"

"You thought _what_?" I asked, voice hard. He was drawing closer, and his look of confusion disturbed me, so I stumble back and away, without looking where I was going. Before I could demand again, what he was going on about, he had my wrists in his hands and had me pinned against one the thrones.

I tried to wriggle free, but the seat of the throne dug into my back and I winced. Noticing this, Darius lifted me slightly, so I sat in the throne, and he… if he cared to shift enough, he could be straddling me.

His eyes seemed far off, lost, and he dipped close to my face, diverting to my hair at the last second. He ran his face along my neck and I shuddered, and he breathed in. "You smell like her, in his memories."

_I smell like who, in… Hephaestus' memories? _I tried to remember all I could of this fire god.

Darius' grip on my wrists softened, and his hands slid slowly down my arms, caressing almost.

I knew I should fight, but when his face lifted and his eyes met mine, I felt something in me catch fire.

"Do you feel it, too?" he whispered, and I was both entranced and disgusted by what he implied. "I didn't know who you were… I didn't know until I saw you in the woods with that Panem man, Cinna… is that what you called him? I had noticed you before, next to Prim, but I never bothered to care, but in the woods today… I could have sworn I thought you were… and I got a closer look." One of his hands moved from my arms to my face, holding it there, his fingers searing an imprint there. "You're her. I know it. I _feel_ it. But you're not. You're not pushing me away, and… in his memories…"

I didn't understand until out the corner of my eye I saw the spear that was a part of the throne.

I sat in Athena's throne.

Hephaestus once tried to seduce Athena, and she refused him because of his crippled nature.

Instead, Hephaestus tried to rape her. But Athena fought and was successful in escape.

_Athena? He thinks I'm her… or like him, I was her replacement, all that she once was? Does he think me an Enlightened? Why would he call me her and make me a pendant with her symbols emblazed on them if he didn't think just that? More important, why would I smell and feel like her, if not…?_

I wanted to ask him what he meant by all this, but his hand on my face drew a thumb over my lips and my ability to form words properly was lost. His eyes bore into mine, _searching_, both a strange burning convection, flickering orange and red, and yellow… his skin hot enough to scald… yet not burning me, and he was boyish, still, in this bright white room, a fringe of red hair over his forehead, out of place.

My hand moved without thinking, and stalled close to his face, hesitating, before moving again and pushing the fringe back in place. Darius blinked, then grinned shyly, and stepped back from the throne.

He shook himself, before saying, voice rasping, "Alright, no kiss. Tell your name."

"You don't know my name?"

"I don't know a lot of names," he said, sheepish. "I didn't know the child's until you said it."

"And if I tell you, you will take me home?"

"Yes."

"You swear?"

"I swear," Darius said, all playfulness gone. "Tell me your name, please."

"Katniss." He cocked his head slightly, then nodded, disappearing. "You promised!" I shouted after him.

"I did," he said, back again, holding Aurora. She was sleeping peacefully, breath even and deep; she _had_ been healed. "I had to get her didn't I?" Darius continued, playful again, coming closer. "Sheesh, you're clingy. Can't even leave you for a moment without you getting all panicky."

"I was angry, not panicked," I said, stepping from the throne and snatching Aurora from him.

Darius shrugged. "Same difference. Ready to go back?"

"I have been ready."

He chuckled, took my hand, and before I could blink, my stomach dropped, and the dome was gone.

* * *

When the world stopped spinning, we were standing in the woods.

A light rain had begun to fall.

In all directions I heard my name being shouted.

Something hot and heavy landed on my chest, and when I looked down I saw the golden necklace. Darius stood behind me, fastening the catch. I jerked away it, but the damage was already done.

"Sorry," he said, raising his hands in defense; not sorry at all. "I wanted you to wear it."

I reached for the catch with my free hand and clawed at it, but it would not open.

"You said it was not enchanted!"

"It's not. Well, not really. You can get it off," he rolled his eyes, "you're just not doing it properly, or trying, I can't decide which. But it's enchanted in a way so that other won't see it, unless you want them too." The moment he said it, I thought to myself, _I wish I didn't have to see it!_ And when I looked down again, I could still feel the weight of it on my chest, but I _couldn't_ see it, nor could I feel it with my hand. "This way your possessive little Peeta won't rip it off you the first chance he gets."

"Peeta's not possessive," I said, absently.

Darius began walking toward the edge of the trees, toward the sound of shouting. I followed slowly, but I caught up to him because of his dragging, limp leg, and we broke the tree line at the same time.

I saw the camp, and waited for them to see me, but each time their eyes passed over our spot.

"Make me visible," I said, and Darius shrugged.

Instantly, Peeta saw me, and his entire face transformed; from frantic and scared, to relief-filled. He flew across the space between us, until he had me in his arms. With my face pressed into his chest, I forget the imprint of Darius' hands on my skin, and something akin to _belonging_ washed over me.

"Are you hurt?" Peeta asked me, stepping away to look me in the face. His eyes shone desperate and concerned, and I shifted to look at Darius beside us, but he was gone, and I shook my head.

"I wasn't harmed."

"What were you thinking? Leaving camp so late without me? I would have gone to the village with you and Cinna, if you'd have asked." He brushed rain soaked curls from his face. It was falling faster now, and I blinked away the drops, trying to shield Aurora from the worst of it. We didn't need her getting a cold right after what I went through to get her better. Peeta shook his head. "What were you thinking, running off into the woods by yourself? Cinna said you were beyond reason when you fled…"

I forgot about Clove! In the light of all that was Darius, _I forgot!_

"Peeta, I have to tell you something. Something urgent."

Emotions blossomed in his eyes, too fast for me to read. I detected hope, though. "What is it?"

Before I could get the words out Primrose ambushed us, and pulled me away from him in a fierce hug. "Gods! Katniss! You scared me to death, running off… and with Aurora! Thank the gods you're okay!"

_Thank just one, actually, _I thought, as she plucked Aurora from my arms. "She's better, now," I said.

Sure enough, after checking her breathing and skin, Prim agreed. "She is!"

Cinna came over, with the rest of our camping party – Finnick, Joanna, Marvel, Deimas, and two Trojan soldiers, and two Panem men. "Where have you been?" he asked me.

"Lost," I said. I knew I wouldn't tell them about Darius. It was risky – for whom? I wasn't sure… I didn't want Peeta harming Darius any more than I wanted Peeta harmed by him – and there was no reason to worry them over a crippled god who only meant to protect Prim… whom he claimed Hera's daughter? And me… how could Darius mistake me for Athena's… what? Her replacement? Or daughter? Both? Bewildered, I willed the necklace to be seen by no one. And, thankfully, no one saw it.

"Come on," Peeta said, breaking me from my thoughts. "It's wet out here and there's room enough for us all in the tent. We'll try to sleep through the dawn and move when the rain has lightened up, yes?"

The group agreed gladly.

Everyone shuffled toward the tent, and I lagged behind, getting soaked. Peeta got the message. We couldn't talk privately in a tent full of ears, so he lagged at my side, and though I knew I should still be angry at him over Glimmer and that incident, Clove was a blaring problem on the horizon, that I could not ignore. I drew in a deep breath, and I noticed Peeta's hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He was nervous about what I had to say.

"Did Cinna tell you why I ran?" I started.

"No, only that you were frightened… by what? Did they try to harm you?"

"No… they were most kind." I struggled with my wording. "In fact… they were sharing information."

"What kind of information?"

"They told me the name of their Anointed Mother."

"And?"

"And it was Clove. Panem's leader is Clove."

Peeta stopped walking, and I turned to him, expecting black eyes and anger.

I got blue eyes, far off, and deep in thought. Then he shook his head. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. Ask Cinna. He doesn't realize she's anything more than his Anointed Mother, revered and loved."

He didn't look shocked, or particularly upset.

"Did you know?" I demanded.

"No…"

"And you're not… upset? That she didn't tell you?"

"I guess I should have expected this. She did say she was preparing the way for me."

I felt something in me clench. "Do you talk to her often now? Now that I'm gone from your bed?"

Peeta eyebrow's furrowed, rain water caught in his eyelashes catching the light of the dawn and his blue eyes were troubled; and somehow I noticed how calm and cool, they were in comparison to the constantly churning depths of Darius' eyes. "No, I haven't seen her since the island and the storm, for that brief moment she stood on the deck. She probably can't risk leaving her people now, being the Anointed Mother…" He overlooked me again. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem… different."

"I'm fine." I wondered if he could sense the necklace, and I knew the instant I was alone I would take it off and chuck it into the nearest stream. "I am worried, though… for you, you know that?"

"Funny. You almost gave me a heart attack, going missing like that, and you're worried about me?"

"Peeta. I'm serious. You know how I feel about Clove… she's dangerous…"

"She's my partner, Katniss," Peeta said, earnestly. "I'm careful, and I'm powerful enough with –" he cut off and in my mind I finished his sentence, _with me! _He meant to say that, but didn't. Why wouldn't he tell me I was his power source? Did he think I would disapprove, or that I might consider it some sort of violation? I wasn't particularly irked by it, I just wanted to know more about the circumstances – how it worked, why me, when had he established it? And then, the Seeder part of it, too.

"Alright, if I promise you I won't do anything without your permission, anything she asks of me, from going out and picking flowers, from talking to a certain god, to killing someone, or building a hut, anything she demands or asks… will you promise not to run off alone again?" Peeta compromised.

I thought it over. It was the best I would get, for now. I nodded.

Peeta smiled, hope in his eyes again, and said, "Then come on, we're melting out here."

As I climbed in the tent with the others, finding a place to sit between Joanna and Prim, I swore I saw a flash of red hair somewhere in the distant trees… but I could have been imaging it, and hoped I was.


	10. Chapter Ten

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this up, I went on vacation for a little while and I just got into town. Hope you enjoy. Sorry for typos/mistakes. I disown everything that isn't mine, as always. Thank you for reading. Everlark worry-ers, stop your worry. I know my OTP and am loyal to it. Trust me and the story.

* * *

Chapter Ten

When the rain had finally stopped, the group was quiet as they prepared to break camp and move out, and Peeta wondered whether it was because of what happened yesterday, Katniss and Aurora going missing for a substantial amount of time, (in which he'd gone a little overzealous in her search – if only they knew that he'd lost near all sense of her, then they'd understand why he was so frantic), or if it was the dampness of the mist that laid its heavy pall over everyone's spirits.

Peeta himself felt edgy, and irritated with that edginess. Katniss' disappearance had surprised him, yet it had also made him wonder. There was something new about her …something he could not recognize.

Something unknowable, and somehow _bright_.

And Peeta could hardly fail to hear her words. Clove as the Anointed Mother? He wasn't surprised or displeased, as he'd told Katniss, but he was worried about the control Clove would have here. Would she command the Panem men to take Joanna before he could wriggle in a word of calm?

Should he worry over Katniss _more?_

_Why is Katniss so afraid of Clove? _Peeta reasoned Katniss was so afraid, because she was unsure if she tromped Clove on his priority list – which she did every time – and he tried to think of how he could prove it to again, how could he, when Katniss still believed in the imposter?

She may have been civil yesterday in concerns of sharing the news about Clove… and Peeta was brightened by the fact she did not push him back when he'd flung himself at her and hugged her… but that morning…

Katniss was glued to Prim's side, more than usual, and Peeta could not make sense of her. Her eyes were constantly about the trees, which he would have found normal, if not for that they were narrowed and searching… as if she thought someone in there. _Had she encountered someone yesterday?_

And when Katniss spoke to Prim it was… revered almost.

This made Peeta even edgier.

And, if he was edgy, then Finnick was in a completely foul mood. Upon waking Peeta could hear him snapping at Cinna regarding the way the three Panem men were ignoring Joanna. Cinna just shrugged and walked away which made Finnick curse foully – something Peeta had never heard him do.

_Did Finnick somehow sense Joanna's coming end?_

Peeta shook off his unease and all the things tugging at him; no one could wake into this thick, clinging fog, knowing they would have to spend the day trudging their way through it, and remain cheerful.

"How long now?" Peeta asked Cinna as he slung a cloak across his shoulders, drawing it tight about his neck against the water droplets in the air. Behind him his horse snorted, then shivered, and Peeta felt it shift closer to him.

"Until we reach the Veiled Hills?" Cinna asked, and Peeta nodded.

"Another seven days' ride," Cinna said, then glanced at Flavius and Bladid, standing silently by their horses' heads, and then to Joanna who already sat on her horse a little distance away. Cinna looked back to Peeta, then suddenly bent and scooped a small amount of loamy earth in his hand.

"But in a sense, Peeta, we are here already," he said.

Peeta frowned.

"We are now within the circle of the hills' influence," Cinna said, a strange half smile playing about his lips. "This land, this soil, is a part of the Veiled Hills. Feel the throb of the hills, albeit soft at this distance."

Katniss had now come to stand at Peeta's shoulder, leaning against him as did his horse, seeking either warmth or reassurance. He hesitated slightly, seeing that her eyes were glued on the trees to his right, worriedly, and then he slid a possessive arm under her cloak and about her waist, pulling her very close.

"This land is like a body," Cinna said, his eyes still on Peeta's. Peeta felt Katniss shiver under his arm, and her own arms slung around his neck – he felt his heart kick, but he kept his eyes on Cinna as he continued to say, "and the Veiled Hills are this land's sacred heart. At a vast distance you cannot feel the beat of that heart, but here, closer, we can feel its throb. All of us."

Now Cinna's eyes slid to Joanna who looked quickly away.

"This is all very well," said Prim, who was sitting on her own horse to the other side of Joanna, and so thickly wrapped with blankets about her and the two babies she had slung across her back that she looked like a gray tree stump tied to her horse's back, "but I am cold, whatever heartbeat you feel. I would prefer moving to this standing about talking of throbbing dirt. Perhaps we can stay the night in a village for a change? I'm worried what the damp might do for both of the children…"

Peeta smiled and agreed, giving Katniss' waist one last squeeze, before he turned to his horse.

"I might be able to do just that," Cinna said, and with that, the group mounted and set off.

* * *

The fog lifted as they progressed, and by midmorning Cinna had led them onto a well-traveled trackway that wound north-easterly. Their way was easier-going here, the road packed gravel, and the horses picked up both their ears and their stride as if they, too, sensed that heartbeat Cinna had talked about.

The land continued green and verdant, wild-flowers spreading in great blossoming drifts up the sides of the low hills. Here and there Peeta could see the thin trails of smoke in the air, and knew that within the hills lay villages or scattered farming communities.

Just before midday, as the weak sun had finally managed to warm both riders and horses, they rode about the curve of a small hill. Before them the land flattened out a little, although it once again rose toward a mound some hundred paces distant.

A family group of aurochs — a bull, five or six cows and their young — grazed on the mound's slopes, but even the sight of these huge black and tan horned creatures could not distract the groups' eyes from what sat on the summit of the mound. A circle of gray stones stood there, twice the height of a man, capped by supporting stones about the entire circle. On the eastern side of the mound there was an avenue of small standing stones that led into the stone circle.

Behind him, Peeta thought he heard Joanna murmur something — a prayer, perhaps.

He was about to turn to her when Cinna spoke. "Behold," he said, indicating the mound. "That mound and its stones is a deeply sacred place."

"How so?" asked Finnick.

"These circles of stones are called Stone Dances," said Cinna.

Before he could add any more, Katniss spoke. "They are places deeply sacred to women."

Everyone twisted about on their horses to look at her, expressions ranging from puzzled to stunned.

"How did you know that, Katniss?" said Cinna, and he looked truly perplexed – Peeta would have assumed she was told by Cinna about these circles, if the man was not clearly as puzzled as the others.

She had her hand resting lightly on her stomach, and she dropped it away to point, drawing her point. "It is obvious," she said. "Look, that avenue of stones leading into the circle. It depicts a woman's birth canal leading into her womb. The circle itself is just like a womb. Clearly, it's a connection to Seeder."

Cinna nodded, more curious about her than ever. (_Twill will want to know about Katniss' knowledge on all things Seeder…)_ He felt Peeta's eyes on him, and he let his own gaze drift away from Katniss and back to her husband. "The Stone Dances have been used for hundreds of generations as potent places for fertility rites," he said.

"It is where the stag comes to mate," Joanna said, making everyone look at her as they had previously looked at Katniss. This time the looks ranged from the interested to the coldly antagonistic. She ignored most of them, and smiled at Katniss. "It is shame, perhaps, that you will not witness any of these."

"The Stone Dances are rarely used?" Peeta said, trying to deflect some of Cinna's and his two companions' hostility away from Joanna. From what Peeta could see of the circle of stones, the Stone Dance, it was not only well built, but an imposing site that dominated the entire surrounding landscape. He could imagine people, many thousands of people, perhaps with torches in the deep mystery of the night, moving up the hill toward the Stone Dance, and a shiver ran up his spine at the image.

"There are certain ceremonies that are still held within the Stone Dances," Cinna said, "and people who live close by them continue to use them throughout the year. But the most sacred of our ceremonies, our most sincere rites to Chaff and Seeder, are now conducted within the Veiled Hills."

Then Katniss spoke again, and what she said sent a jolt of fear deep into Peeta's belly.

"Is that where the stone hall is?" she said to Cinna.

He frowned. "The stone hall?"

"A hall built of stone, ten times the height of the stones in the Dance, with great arches for walls, and a domed golden roof. Is it in these Veiled Hills?"

Peeta's mouth thinned at the eagerness in her voice.

"We have no such hall," Cinna said, his voice soft and puzzled. "There is an Assembly House made of stone, but is it not so large as you describe, and has no arches, nor a golden domed roof."

Peeta let out a soft breath, allowing himself to relax. It was just a dream, nothing more, and perhaps merely something he'd caught from Katniss because of their proximity in bed. It didn't exist.

_How can you lie so blatantly to yourself? _He thought, annoyed. And yet, he willed that there was no lover in that stone hall, waiting for her, and certainly no Coriolanus. He willed it was a dream…

But he remembered being in that same stone hall, breathing her soul back into her.

Somewhere, it was real. Somewhere Coriolanus and her lover waited.

_And I will be there beside her, waiting as well._

* * *

For two more days we traveled, passing several more Stone Dances on our way.

And every moment I was not near any of the others, Darius showed up.

He was always smiling, and genuinely happy to be there. He swore he meant no harm, but whenever I challenged him to show himself to everyone else, he would get uneasy and say that was unwise.

"How can it be unwise if you come peacefully?" I asked one time, as I cupped my hands and drank from a stream, some thirty paces away from camp. I had kept my voice down – hoping no one thought I was talking to myself, and think my wits were addled or that I had fallen ill, my sanity lost.

Darius sat languidly at the stream's edge, not touching the water – in fact, I got the sense he did not want to or was displeased with the idea of getting any closer to it than he was. "Because… why would I want to muddle in those other mortal's lives? And Peeta… well Hades misliked Hephaestus. No reason to tempt fate. I came to see you that is all…"

"What makes you think I wanted to be seen?" I stood, wiping my hands on my robes. I meant to turn away and go back to camp, warding Darius off for a time, but Darius stood hurriedly.

"I'll tell you the truth," he said, "if you stay, just a minute."

I hesitated, then turned back to him, and pretended to be looking at the trees over his shoulder. I could hear Joanna calling out for me, but I pretended I didn't hear. "Well… I'm listening, make it fast."

Darius looked uncomfortable. "I get bored. Alright?"

"A bored god, never heard that one before." I turned again.

"Alright!" Darius lurched to my side to keep pace as I made to camp. "Up there, all alone… I get bored and it's _lonely_. The only thing I'm allowed to do is keep my view on Prim and Aurora, and to protect them. It's not that hard a job. It's easy enough to do it down here… or up there…" He paused, nervously pulling at his hair. His eyes shone more amber that evening than usual. "But down here at least someone knows I _exist_," he finally muttered, but by the time he said it I reached camp, and Joanna.

He dissipated before I could reply.

The next time, I purposely moved away from the group to speak with him. He wasn't there immediately, not until I murmured his name, and he showed up, grinning. "Hello, Katniss," he said. "You called?"

I held out the necklace. "Take this back. I don't want your gifts."

He frowned, but took it. "Is that all?"

"What do you mean by calling me Athena?"

"You've got her blood, I suppose." He shrugged. "It doesn't mean much, I just… could tell."

"Because of Hephaestus," I said.

"Yeah." Then his eyes moved beyond my shoulder. "Peeta is looking for you."

I looked beyond my back as well. Sure enough Peeta's head was swiveling about. I went to him without thinking, and leaned into his side, like I had done before and he beamed down at me, his arm slipping around my waist. There was something formidable about the heat on his skin, compared to Darius'.

Darius lingered at the edge of the woods, his eyes on Primrose, necklace hanging limp from his hand.

Just before he left, his eyes flickered to me, and found me staring. I fumbled to look away.

I still saw his grin.

* * *

"Katniss… do you think we could talk for a second?"

We'd stop so that we could eat, and replenish our water supply, and I'd been standing with the horses, Primrose still mounted on one, singing to Achates and taking the break to hold him, when Peeta had wandered over, looking unsure and rocking on his heels slightly when he had managed to speak.

I at first felt unsure – then reminded myself that I'd recently given into speaking with him again. We were still allies, and he was always the best weapon to fend off Darius. It seemed unfair that I should send him off at that moment after all the recent times I'd gone to his side for protection from Darius.

I nodded an affirmative, steering away from Prim and toward the woods.

Peeta followed, and when we stopped he reached down and slid a thumb along his son's chin. He mumbled at the boy for a little while, stalling, before he looked up at me, and then looked away.

"Alright, out with it," I said, bouncing Achates to distract myself from Peeta's obvious unease.

"I just…" He rolled his lip between his teeth and the action seemed so _un_-him.

"Has there been trouble? Has Clove asked something of you?" I worried. "Remember your promises."

"Right, my _promises_," he muttered, looking down, and I narrowed my eyes.

"Peeta, what is it? Look at me." I turned his face up with a hand on his cheek, and was relieved to see blue eyes. "I might still be angry at you over… whatever that was with Glimmer, and I might hate Clove with all my being, but you must know that I still mean to protect you. That I have no intentions of betraying you or harming you, like before… back when… back in Mesopotamia. Alright?"

"I know things are different," he said. Then he looked concerned. "Why do you hate Clove?"

I was aghast for a moment, then I reeled myself in. "_Why_ do I hate Clove?"

"I mean, I know she didn't do the right thing with me, but that's my problem, really. Even if what she did to me affected you indirectly… it shouldn't make you hate her 'with all your being'. I know _she_ doesn't like _you_, for obvious reasons–" I raised my eyebrow at these '_obvious reasons'._ "–but I don't understand what you have to… why you're so worried about her? I mean, actually you shouldn't be worried because I'm here, I'll protect you. But why do you _hate_ her? She's never done anything to you."

For a second I thought he was joking. Then it hit me; _Peeta had no idea who Clove was._

He was even more fooled than the people of Panem.

I knew he was not aware of how Clove tricked me in Mesopotamia, and I knew he had no way of knowing that when Atala had pulled me over the edge of the ship, her voice had not been her own, but it had been the voice of Clove, but I had thought he at least suspected _something_ had been done to me, other than his initial torment to my life. Did he only think Clove would be a potentially _future_ harm to me? I'm afraid I stood there, gapping at him, unable to find the correct and harsh enough words to explain to him just why I hated Clove, and just why I had every intention of revenge…

And exactly how I had no intentions of allowing him to end up with her.

The words would not come. I merely looked away and patted Achates' side agitatedly. "I really, can't even…" I drew in a long breath, and screwed my eyes shut. "Peeta, is this conversation even safe?"

"Of course it's safe. I have control."

I opened my eyes, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was afraid of him, still. Afraid of black-eyed Peeta, who'd borne me down on the mattress that first night, who'd held a sword to Primrose's ribcage and Rory's throat, and who'd twisted my wrist and swore to kill me more than one time in my short life.

"At the very least, let me give Achates back to Prim," I said.

Offense rose in Peeta's eyes, pain even. His voice went soft. "You think I'd hurt him?"

I looked away again, unable to meet his stare. "I don't know. Maybe. The other you is unpredictable."

"Katniss…" The anguish in that single _word_ – I shivered. Then he sighed. "Alright, whatever makes you more comfortable. I'll be here." But before I could turn, he pressed a kiss into Achates' forehead.

Each step I took back to Prim I could feel his eyes on my back, mournful, and each step got heavier the farther I went; I started to feel a little guilty of making him feel that I didn't even trust him with our son. But it wasn't that! I just worried that if Achates happened to be in the path between Peeta's fists and me, when he was black-eyed and I'd just went on a rant about why I hate Clove… he might forget Achates was there. When Prim saw my expression she grew concerned, but I shushed her and pet her arm.

When I turned back to Peeta, I walked to him, and then straight passed him, further into the woods. He followed, uncomplaining, and I got far enough away that no one could see us, but if I were to shout, they would hear – just in case. "Will you believe me?" I asked him bluntly. "Will you take my word over hers, if she tries to defuse what I'm telling you? Do you trust me enough to take me on my word?"

Peeta didn't have to think about that. "I trust you, Katniss. What is it you're not telling me?"

I told him.

I made a point of not looking at him throughout my telling, and I'm ashamed to admit I flinched once, when he shifted his weight; I'd thought he was moving to grab me. My voice was unwavering when I told him how a goddess came to me one night as he slept beside me in the Mesopotamian palace, and I described her – dusky skin, freckles, brown eyes, black hair, naked save for a golden bow and her arrows. Peeta commented, "That sounds like Clove." But when I started to tell him how Atala spoke with her voice, my tone was significantly meeker. Perhaps that was because he'd grown even stiller and quieter, and I couldn't dare look at him, or perhaps it was because I'd just finished recounting the events in Mesopotamia's streets, where my people died, and half of that was my fault, tricked by Clove.

There was a long drawn out pause after I finished, my voice faltering on the last note. I shifted, wrapping my arms around my torso, eyes still glued on the ground. "That's why," I said.

We stood there until I heard a voice just behind me, murmuring, "He's trying to decide how best to make you feel safe." I jumped and hugged myself tighter, using all my effort not to turn to Darius.

"Go," I hissed under my breath. _Stay out of my life. Stay out of Peeta's head!_

"Katniss?" That was Peeta. I looked up. He was looking at me in concern. "You want me to go?"

_No. _"I…" I chanced a glance over my shoulder and sure enough Darius was leaning against a tree there.

Peeta followed my stare. His eyebrows furrowed, then he grew angry. "Is she here now? Is she threatening you?" he asked, taking a intimidating step in that direction. "Clove, show yourself!"

I moved forward and took Peeta's wrists in my hands. "No, she's not here. Not now. It's nothing." He visibly relaxed in the shoulders. He turned his hands around so that he was holding mine, our fingers shifting together, clenching, and he looked down at them, apologetic. "Do you believe me?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I should have known."

"There was no way you could have. She lives to deceive people."

"And she's doing a fine job of it with me." Then he shook his head, looking up at me. "Ah, forgive me. I have no right for self-pity. I should be asking how you are feeling… angry, I guess. I understand now, your hatred of her, but I almost wish I didn't." He let out a long breath. "This changes things."

"I doubt it," Darius commented, voice flat. "He's already considering forgiving Clove."

"Shut up," I barely breathed out the corner of my mouth. Peeta didn't notice; he was looking thoughtful. But Darius' words plucked a sensitive string in my chest. "Peeta, how will things change? Clove…"

"I won't let what she did to you go," he swore to me, "but I can't forfeit her…"

Stung, I dropped his hands and stepped back. "Why not? She's no good, Peeta. Don't you see?"

"I know that," he said. "I know she's not what I thought. And I know… I know that if keeping you takes getting rid of her, I can do that. I can! But I can't do it so suddenly. I need time… I need time to make allies and to make sure the moment I drop her and turn my back, she doesn't lodge a knife into it."

_Is that true? _I thought it toward Darius, and I was both put out and relieved to hear him answer. "Yes."

_Won't you be his ally? _I thought next.

"Can't," Darius said. "I'm Thresh's man. Peeta… well, he's still not keen on Thresh."

_Who is he keen toward? Clove?_

"Surprisingly, only you," Darius said.

Suspicion and doubt wormed its way into my chest, as I asked Peeta, "Do you choose me over her only because I'm your power source?" And the surprise that took over his expression satisfied me none.

"How did you know that?"

"That doesn't matter. I just need to know. Is that why you keep me around?"

"Of course not. I wanted you around me long before you were ever my power source." It seemed earnest, and his eyes seemed gentle and genuine. And then… what did I know of him?

_Does he mean it?_

"He'd tell you anything to make you believe he loves you," was Darius' reply.

I flinched, and made the mistake of turning my head momentarily in Darius' direction to shoot him the most hostile look I could. He raised his hand in a defensive gesture. "I'm only telling you the truth."

_You're shamelessly lying and trying to sabotage this_, I corrected. _Get out of here._

Peeta looked completely invested in the spot at which I had scowled. "Someone _is_ there," he said.

"No."

"You're lying, Katniss," he said, and seemed both annoyed _and_ concerned. "Who is there? Seeder?"

Darius tsked. "He can't see me because of this." He held up his wrist, a bracelet there. He was amused for the most part about the situation, and that annoyed me – it was an important moment, a moment I could turn Peeta against Clove, and the last thing I wanted to involve was words like _love_ and…

"I swear I'll tell him who you are if you don't leave this instant," I said aloud that time

"Alright, alright. I'm going. Just thought I would come see the show." He shrugged, and then was gone.

I relaxed completely once he disappeared – I just hoped he was really gone and not currently invisible to me now – and Peeta took that as a sign that our visitor had in fact taken action at the sound of my threat. "Who are they?" he wanted to know. "You can tell me… I can make them not come back."

"They?" I echoed at him. "Just one. He's unimportant. Annoying, but unimportant."

"He?"

The tautness in his voice made me examine his eyes closely. And then, a thought trickled into my mind. _Jealousy comes from somewhere. _Why wouldn't it be safe to assume Darius was right? That he loved…

"Peeta," I began, and then failed with my nerve.

"Yes?"

I looked away, to the sky. "We'll be at the Veiled Hills soon. Clove will be there. I can't promise you I won't try anything." He opened his mouth to speak, but I went on, raising my voice to drown him out. "I can't promise you that I won't hurt her, or that I won't make alliances of my own against her…"

Suddenly Peeta had my wrist and I felt for one horrible second that he'd broken. He'd flipped to the other side and I was about to breathe my last. Instead, his blue eyes were urgent. "You can't," he said.

"I will. After all she's done –"

"No," he said. "No, not that. You can't be making alliances. You can't just go willy-nilly into the Enlightened's ranks and find _friends_, Katniss. You don't know how to deal with them. You don't know how they work… Clove is just one of many. That person before…" he glanced again at the spot where Darius had been standing. "I don't know what you think who or what they are, or what they've promised to do for you, or what they're trying to get you agree to… but don't…" he looked pained.

"Don't make my mistake," he finished, loosening his grip of my wrist, and stepping back.

"I won't," I said, confidently. "Because I'm going to do one thing you didn't."

"What?"

"I'm going to kill Clove the first chance I get."

* * *

On the third day of travel we came in the evening to a village that rested some five hundred paces away from the largest and most imposing of the Stone Dances they had yet encountered. _Seeder's Dance._

Looking at it, Joanna lost what little color remained in her face.

She knew why they'd come here.

* * *

This time the village Headwoman – the mother of this particular clan – agreed to Cinna's request that he and his companions might stay in her village for the night. The Mother's name was Enobaria, a woman in her thirties, her face hard, her body slightly stooped with the hardness of her life, and with a flintiness in her sharp brown eyes that made it difficult to believe she could ever unbend enough to love.

She greeted the group politely, moving from one to the other, taking the person's hands in hers and briefly laying her cheek to theirs. She had greeted Cinna first, her hands squeezing his slightly harder than they squeezed anyone else's, then moved to Peeta, who she studied with marked speculation, then Katniss, who caused her a puzzled frown.

As she drew back from laying her cheek to Katniss', Enobaria said, "You have given birth recently?"

"Yes," Katniss responded. "A few weeks ago. See, my son nestles at my sister's back."

Enobaria completely ignored Primrose and Achates. She had not yet let go of Katniss' hands, and she tightened them momentarily, her face thoughtful. "Yes. You have just given birth. That must be it."

Then she dropped Katniss' hands and moved on before either Katniss or Peeta could say anything.

Enobaria moved through the group, greeting each in turn, until she finally reached Joanna.

"You have caused us the world of trouble, girl," Enobaria said in a flat voice. "Have you seen the blight on this land as you passed through it?"

"It was not I, Mother Enobaria," Joanna said, uncaring and equally flat voiced.

Enobaria's mouth twisted disdainfully. "You are not your mother's daughter."

Surprisingly, Joanna managed a smile at that. "No," she said, "I think that may be safely assumed."

* * *

Various members of the group were bedded in several of the circular stone-walled houses in Enobaria's village — Cinna, Primrose, Achates, Aurora, Peeta and Katniss, and Finnick and Joanna were to sleep in Enobaria's personal house — but even so, everyone met in Enobaria's house for the evening meal.

This was the first time the Trojans had been inside a Panem home, (aside Katniss) and they looked about them curiously. The circular stone walls, only shoulder height from the outside, were sunken into the ground so that the internal floor of hard-packed earth and stone flagging was several steps lower than ground level. Combined with the high, conical thatched roof, that meant that the house was much roomier inside than external appearances indicated.

The low door opened onto several steps that led down to the floor that was dominated by a large central hearth. Here a huge pile of coals glowed, serving both as a cooking fire and a means to heat the house. Several earthenware cooking pots sat in the coals, the steam rising from their lids making everyone's mouth water.

Bedding niches had been built into the walls, all piled high with animal skins, furs, and woven woolen blankets and covers over the straw and woolen bedding, while tools and other farming implements hung from the walls and roofing rafters, along with dried vegetables and smoked meats and baskets of preserved eggs and fish. In one part of the floor were tightly woven wicker lids that hid deep food and grain storage pits sunk into the earth.

The house smelled of smoke, of the spice of the dried foods and of those cooking in the coals, and of the stale musk of human bodies packed into a relatively small space.

Enobaria, her brothers and sons, as well as her daughters and their children, lived in this house; some twenty people all crowded into a circular space some twenty-five feet across.

Benches and stools had been set about the hearth, and to these Enobaria's daughters — two women of mature childbearing years — directed their guests.

With Enobaria's immediate family, and the eleven members of the traveling band, it would be a tight fit indeed.

But fit they did, and once everyone was seated Enobaria's daughters and granddaughters handed about a rich stew that they ladled into semi-hollowed out portions of heavy grained bread. Salad herbs and cooked vegetables lay on plates about the hearth, and after Enobaria had said a blessing to Chaff and Seeder for the bounty of the food, everyone fell to.

Enobaria also handed about flasks of wine, and this was wine such as the Trojans had not yet tasted. It was honey wine, but without much of the cloying sweetness, and with an under-taste of herbs and flowers that lent it a complexity that made many among the Trojans reach again and again for the flask.

Enobaria caught Cinna's eyes at this, and smiled secretly.

Once the food had gone – but with the flasks of wine still being passed about – Enobaria said a word to one of her sons, and he picked up a small drum and began to play upon it a complex, throbbing beat.

Shoulders dipped and swayed, and eyes half closed as people gave themselves to the power of the music.

Again Enobaria said a word, and her two daughters rose, loosened their hair and the belts that held their robes close to their bodies, and began to dance. Like the throb of the drum, it was a slow, sensual dance. They moved separately about the outer circle of benches and stools, but nevertheless danced to each other as if there was no one else present. It was a dance of lovers, and even though both the daughters were mothers themselves, and one was some five or six months gone with her next child, it was as though they were virgins, moving ever closer to that moment of their first bedding.

They twined about behind the people seated on the benches, their hips or hands or bellies occasionally brushing someone's shoulder or back, but always Enobaria's daughters kept their eyes firmly fixed between themselves, acknowledging no one but the other, demonstrating desire for no one but the other.

Whenever they passed in their intricate orbits about the benches, their hands and lips would graze that of the other woman in abandoned promise.

Katniss was stirred by the women's dance as she had never before been moved. Part of it was sexual desire – the way these women moved their bodies, the patent sexual intent of their rhythmic motion, combined with the throb of the drum, meant that no one in the house could fail to be aroused – but the larger part was a sense that the dancers led her into a far deeper plane, an ancient mystical realm where strode gods and powers she could never hope to understand. She felt heavy with the wine.

Peeta, too, drank heavily of the wine every time the flask came by him, and soon the wine throbbed inside his veins with the same beat of the drum, and every time one of the dancers passed behind him, and brushed him with hip or belly, his hands clenched into fists where they lay on his thighs.

The natives to Panem, women and men, had closed their eyes to sight, and let themselves drown in the sound of the drum and the touch of the dancers. They seemed to know whenever the flask was being passed their way, for they put out their hands at precisely the right moment, grasped the flask, drank of it, and passed it on without ever opening their eyes or interrupting the swaying movements of their bodies.

The Trojans, too, although more inhibited, gave themselves to wine and music and dance, and soon everyone was half mad with drink and sensuality, and the dancers' rhythm increased until they were twirling about the circular rim of benches, their colorful robes a blur of brilliance, their hair and hands flying, and soon there was nothing but madness and pleasure, and people took partners as they pleased.

* * *

When Peeta took me to dance, I felt my heart tight in my throat.

We spun and dipped, and his hips were flush against mine, directing my each move.

I did not mind being pressed into his broad chest, other's bodies brushing around us, nor did I mind his hot breath in my hair, or his hands on my hips. Because all I could think about was how he grabbed Glimmer's hips so feverishly before, his eyes black, and Glimmer was all alone now, in Delltos camp...

And I did not object when I was breathless and exhausted, along with everyone else, and Peeta pulled me down into his assigned bed with him. I curled into him, panting into his neck, and my fingers reached to twist into his golden curls – but instead of curls, I felt something else. Something off…

I felt rather than hair, the soft velvet of antlers…

Or the hard rasp of a bull's horn, perhaps. I was not sure.

* * *

After dinner and the dancing and everyone had fallen into their respective beds, the night was still and cold – Peeta and Katniss dead asleep in their niche, along with the rest – and Enobaria rose from her own niche, walking naked to where Joanna lay beside Finnick, seemingly just as at rest as the others.

She reached out a hand, but Joanna's eyes flew open before Enobaria touched her.

"Is it time?" Joanna whispered.

Enobaria nodded, and stepped back.

Joanna slowly rose, careful not to wake Finnick, then stood next to the bed, gazing down at her friend. "I will always owe him, and remember what he has done for me," she said, then, her face composed but her eyes desperate, she followed Enobaria out the door and into the cold, star-filled night.

* * *

I rolled over, away from Peeta's warmth, and peered up from under the thick wrapping that lay heavy and comforting over me, into the face of the person who had so rudely shaken me awake.

Darius stood over our bed, his eyes blood red in the dim light.

"What?" I snarled at him, pushing myself up to glare. I was both irritated that he would wake me, and by the mere fact that he had come here, and had dared to disturb me in my bed with Peeta. The fact that I hadn't seen him since that time he'd tried to get in on Peeta and mine's conversation, a couple of days ago, – which had ended as well as I could have hoped, with us at mutual, grudging understanding – had led me to believe I'd seen the last of Darius.

Of course, I had been wrong. Of course he was here.

He didn't seem to notice my irritation. "I was watching Prim…" he started, uncertainly. "Like always. But I saw…" His eyes cast to the doorway of the hut, then to two empty beds. "Joanna and Enobaria…"

A deep, horrible sense of foreboding swelled inside me, and I felt as though my stomach was turning over and over in its panic. Out of nowhere, I'd begun to sweat, as though I were consumed with fear, and I felt my heart racing. Yet there was nothing to fear…was there? I pushed myself up from the bed.

"Has she been taken?" I asked, somehow fearing just this. My irritation was forgotten. "Show me!"

Darius turned and led me toward the door. Unable to prolong this, I slipped quietly from the bed, slid my feet into my leather shoes lying close by, and grabbed a cloak to pull over my body. Pausing to make sure that everyone else slept on, I nodded to Darius and he opened the door and together we wandered outside, in pursuit of Enobaria and Joanna.

Initially, I could not see them anywhere nearby. For one heartbeat I thought it could be a trap that Darius had set up for me, then something calmed me; _Be still, Katniss. _And the voice seemed reasonable, I not as fearful as me. The voice was scared for Joanna, too. I became certain Darius knew where he was going, and though his walk was slow and gimp, it was calm and sure… if not a little grim.

The night was almost freezing, and I shivered, and pulled the cloak tight about me as I tried not to hurry passed him, through the few circular houses of the village, past the pens where the village goats and sheep slumbered the night away, and onto the path that led through the harvested fields toward the plain in the distance.

Once we finally did get on the track I saw Joanna and Enobaria walking side by side, well ahead of us.

Both wore no clothing. _How could they walk so calmly? They must be frozen!_

They were almost to the embankment that encircled the Stone Dance, and they had shifted from the path Darius and I was on to a broad raised pathway clearly defined by ditches on either side.

Something made them stop, and turn to look behind them.

They saw me instantly: in this treeless landscape they could hardly have missed me.

"Can they see you?" I whispered to Darius. He shook his head.

Joanna became excited, turning to Enobaria and grabbing at her arm with one hand, pointing to me with the other.

Enobaria shook her off, and said a few words that seemed to be very hard.

Joanna subsided her pestering and pointing, her entire body language projecting misery.

It was clear that Joanna had wanted me to come along. But Enobaria had told her I couldn't.

I wondered why Enobaria didn't want me to come to the Dance.

Obviously, I was not meant to be up – it was Darius who woke me.

I suppose I should have taken note of Darius' unease, and the village Headwoman's wish that I not follow, but my foreboding had grown stronger with every step toward the Dance that I took and there was nothing that could stop me now. Not even if Primrose begged me not to go to that Dance.

_And yet, amongst all this certainty that I had to go… why did I have to go?_

_What was wrong? _All I knew was that my foreboding somehow involved Joanna, and the looks the people of Panem had given her… and her upset at being home… something was happening here…

As I continued to walk forward, determined, my breath frosting about me, Enobaria lifted a hand, pointed it at me, then slowly moved it about until it pointed at the raised path on which they stood.

The message was clear, if grudging: _You may join us, but to do so you must walk this path._

I nodded, and cut across the turf between their path and mine. The going was difficult, and I stumbled several times, once almost falling. I thought Darius to be struggling behind me, but he had gone.

I was wondering why on earth I was out here in the freezing night, then, and had started to think that the wise and sensible thing would be to return to my warm bed and Peeta – whom I'd promised not to go wondering off again… though I was hardly alone – when the raised pathway suddenly loomed before me. I climbed down into the ditch, and then scrambled up to the path's surface using my hands for purchase. I was certain then that Darius had not followed because of the labor to get here.

Joanna and Enobaria had gone, presumably inside the Stone Dance where the great dark stones, topped with their oppressive lintel stones, were now wreathed in thick garlands of a faintly yellowed fog.

When I had left the smaller pathway to cross to this raised one, the night had been frosty and clear.

It still was, where I stood, but not where the Stone Dance rose.

There, mystery gathered.

Suddenly Enobaria appeared, standing alone, dwarfed by the stones towering over her.

She saw me, and beckoned again. I took a step toward her, hesitated, then took another, then another, and before I knew why I was walking swiftly toward the Stone Dance, afraid still.

Enobaria held up a hand just before I reached the circle of stone – twin circles, I could see now, as there was an inner ring of smaller stones. "Stop," Enobaria said. "Why have you come?"

I licked my lips, and then spoke some truth. "Because I fear for Joanna."

"How did you wake?" Enobaria said. "The wine was drugged so most would sleep insensible."

_Most? Hera, who else was going to join us?_

"Fear woke me," I said, my eye sliding past her beyond the stones. "Fear for Joanna."

I thought of Darius, and knew then, he'd done me an immeasurable favor by waking me.

"Joanna is not deserving of such care," Enobaria said, her voice hard.

"To me she is," I said stubbornly. "I care for her dearly."

Enobaria was unmoved by my words. "Only Seeder herself knows why you are here," she said. "Only she could have woken you." _Or, of course, a fire god, some cripple who witnessed your actions…_

"Then Seeder must care for Joanna, too," I said instead.

Enobaria's face flushed – with anger, I think. "Seeder has no care for Joanna at all!" she said. "Now, as you are here, and I must assume there is a reason for it, then you may enter. But stay with me, and do only as I tell you. And divest yourself of your clothes. Seeder's Dance will only accept you naked."

I hesitated, unnerved not so much by any thought of modesty but because of the frigid air. How could Enobaria stand so calmly, so still, when her flesh must be screaming for warmth? And I remembered some of Cinna's words about Seeder; how Seeder loved everyone and all, so she must love Joanna.

"You will be warm enough," Enobaria said somehow knowing my thoughts (at least some of them).

I shrugged off my cloak and kicked my shoes to one side.

Enobaria looked at the faint lines of pregnancy still visible on my belly, and nodded. "Your fertility blesses you," she said. "Enter." And with that she turned, and walked into the stones. With no more hesitation, but with my unknown sense of fear growing every moment, I, too, stepped into Seeder's Dance.

* * *

We stood within the outer circle of stones, halfway between it and the inner, smaller circle.

"This is the greatest Stone Dance of them all," Enobaria's soft voice said. "This is Seeder's Dance, her Dance, her womb." She led me to the very center of the Dance through the inner circle of smaller and uncapped stones to where five great stone arches stood in a "U" shape.

"The cup of the womb," said Enobaria, and reached down to the foot of one of the arches. She lifted up a flask. "Drink," she said, and handed it to me.

I hesitated, and looked at Enobaria.

The woman's eyes glinted at me, daring me. "Are you afraid?" she asked.

_Yes_, I thought. "No," I said, raising the flask to my lips, drank deeply of the warm, pungent liquid within.

It bit into my throat, then into my stomach, and I gagged, spilling some of the liquid from my mouth as I all but dropped the flask.

"Careful," said Enobaria, tut-tutting as if she was, indeed, my mother. "Do not drink too much."

"Who would want to?" I murmured, and she smiled, and took the flask and drank deeply of it herself.

She saw me staring as she finally lowered the flask. "I am used to it," she said, her words lightly slurred, and I found that when I opened my mouth to comment my mouth, too, did not work well.

My tongue and throat felt thick, as if they were coated with rotten honey, and I gagged once more, and would have retched had not Enobaria grabbed my arm and put a hand to my forehead. "Be still," she said, and some of the rotten taste and thickness in my mouth and throat faded, and I felt easier again.

I relaxed a little, and Enobaria must have felt it under her hands. She smiled, and I saw that her face was beautiful — far more beautiful than I had previously thought. _Was it the starlight?_ I wondered.

"You are a mother," she whispered, the hand on my arm now sliding over my breasts, oh, so slowly, and my belly. "You are beautiful in Seeder's eyes. Whatever happens here tonight, Katniss, Seeder will protect and nurture you. She is strong here tonight, stronger than I have felt her in many, many years." Enobaria's voice, oddly, sounded rather surprised. "I think you bring a blessing to this Dance, stranger."

"I had no thought to," I said. "Where is Joanna? Should she not also drink?"

"No," said Enobaria. "I have asked Joanna to wait at the outer circle. She does not know of the frenzy wine." _Frenzy wine?_ I thought, and then realized that Enobaria must have put this wine here earlier as she had very obviously carried nothing to the Dance on her way here with Joanna.

This night was planned long before we arrived.

"Seeder has brought you here," whispered Enobaria, and I thought her voice sounded as if it came from a distance greater than that of the stars. "But not through fear for Joanna, I think. She wants you to witness something, Katniss. Something… akin to revenge…"

"What…" I mumbled, the words of my confusion tumbling and not coming out.

The frenzy wine was coursing through my blood, and I could not think in a straight line. The stones about me blurred, melding one into the other until it seemed as if I were enclosed within a solid wall of stone. "You are within Seeder's womb," Enobaria whispered. "See…"

She spread her hand out before me.

Figures suddenly emerged from the stone. Men. Women. Beasts. A donkey, draped in ribbons and baubles. A stunningly beautiful white mare. An ox, flowers festooning its horns. A wiry sheep, bleating pitifully. "Here, in this circle," Enobaria whispered, "in Seeder's womb, came men and women to celebrate the gift of life, and to offer dance and frenzy to Seeder and Chaff in thanks for their fertility and life. See." And I saw the men and women, dancing and writhing, copulating on the ground and in the spaces between the stones.

One naked, muscular man stood out, for on his head he wore the bloodied antlers of a stag. He seized a woman, and rode her as a bull rides a cow, then let her go when she started to shriek. He took another woman, then another, then yet one more, and all shrieked, although whether in fear or joy I could not tell.

The circles of stone blurred, and I felt faint, and only the pressure of Enobaria's hand on my arm kept me upright. "This is not now," she whispered. "This is what is past. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said, my eyes still on the man who wore the stag antlers.

He had just left a woman, and stood not five paces from me.

Our eyes met, and held. I moaned, wondering if he would take me, for I found myself wanting him more than anything I had ever previously lusted for in life. I remembered the antlers of Peeta's head.

Just before the man seized me, I cried out, but both the man and Enobaria laughed, and…

…then everything vanished, and I stood again amid the circles of stone, Enobaria by my side.

The writhing, copulating couples had gone; the stag man had gone; the beasts had gone.

Now Joanna walked toward us, summoned by a soft word from Enobaria, her naked skin gleaming soft ivory in the starlight. I had always thought Joanna somewhat plain, but here, now, within these magical circles and with the frenzy wine throbbing through my veins, I thought her beautiful. Her limbs were perfectly formed, her hips and belly, like mine, rounded through motherhood. Her breasts were small globes, like firm apples, and her nipples were likewise girlishly small and pale pink. _Why was I…?_

I jumped. Beside me Enobaria had begun to clap a haunting rhythm with her hands; much like what her daughters had danced to back in the hunt, but this beat was nonetheless far stronger and more potent.

It throbbed, as the frenzy wine throbbed.

"Dance!" said Enobaria, and Joanna began a hauntingly slow, beautiful dance.

Her movements looked first like a sapling bending in a breeze, then like a field of grain, waving in the wind. Her movement quickened, and although she never danced as wildly or as quickly as Enobaria's daughters had done, her dance nevertheless seemed far more powerful, and far more secret. Her feet blurred, their movements intricate, tapping out the rhythm of Enobaria's hands, and she swayed this way and that, weaving a pattern through the twin circles of stones, and the arches within the center.

She looked like one possessed, and yet at the same time everything she did, every movement, every tap of her foot and arch of an arm, was clearly part of a deliberate pattern of passage through and between the circles of stone was labyrinthlike, beautiful, demanding, complex.

_How could anyone learn these steps?_

My own body yearned to sway and dip as did Joanna's.

"She remembers what Seeder taught her as a girl," Enobaria said over the beat of her clapping hands.

"This is Seeder's Nuptial Dance, Katniss. Her mating dance."

"Mate with whom?" I whispered, yet knowing the answer.

_The stag man, the wild beast of the forest._

I gave in to my impulses, and began to sway back and forth with the rhythm of Enobaria's hands.

"Only initiates into Seeder's ways can dance this —" Enobaria began, and then she stopped, or I failed to hear the rest of what she said, for the frenzy wine was soaring through my blood, and I found my feet moving, and my arms, and then I was in among the stones as well, dancing with Joanna.

Behind me I very faintly heard Enobaria cry out something in surprise, or it could have been a warning, but I did not care either way. I found that this dance seemed to rise from the very pit of my womb, as if I had known it all my life, and all my unborn life before that.

Joanna saw me, and her face suffused with joy. We laughed at each other, and then rather like Enobaria's daughters, we effortlessly joined our dances into the one. We danced in counterpoint, each one mirroring the other's movements through different quadrants of the circles.

My chest tightened, my breath harshened, my feet blistered with the agony of the dance, my breasts and belly burned with the liquid tempo of my body.

Unbidden, almost as though they were put there, thoughts of the man with the stag antlers filled my mind, and I wished he could see me as now, wished he could see my dance. I felt sure, he would want me now.

The stones about me blurred, the stars in the sky became one blinding searing light, and I thought I must be near death…

…and then everything stopped.

I opened my eyes. I stood, breathing deeply but not heavily, under one of the lintels in the outer circle of stone. Joanna stood directly opposite me across the twin circles, under her own lintel.

Enobaria stood between us, her hands fallen still, and I realized we had stopped dancing the instant she had stopped her clapping.

I gazed about me.

The mist that had been drifting between the stones when first I'd approached Seeder's Dance had now thickened. The stones themselves still loomed through the mist, but the surrounding countryside had gone, blanketed by the fog. There was nothing but our enclosed circle of stones, Seeder's womb, and us. Even the stars had vanished overhead, and all the noises of the night – the wind, the rustling of grasses and shrubs, the sleep movements and chirpings of birds – had stilled.

I looked again at Enobaria – her hands folded before her, her face lowered — and then at Joanna who was staring at me with such profound _hope_ on her face that my breath caught in my throat.

"Oh, thank you," she said, her soft voice reaching me even though a vast distance separated us. I had not heard Joanna thank many people in our time together, so hearing it then seemed out of character.

"Thank you for so blessing me tonight, Seeder," Joanna continued to say.

_Did she just call me Seeder?_

I gulped, not so much at what she said, but because she looked lovelier than I had ever seen any woman. Her face was alight, her eyes shining, her mouth slightly parted to show the tips of her white teeth.

And then the foreboding roared through me more vicious that it had heretofore been.

For no other reason, I think, than the fear that gripped me, I remembered Hera's voice and warning…

_Beware of the Thorned One. The Rose. He hunts. _And then, as if elaborated then: _Asterion_.

Asterion? She means the half-man, and half-bull? What of this Minotaur of Crete?

I could not puzzle that out then, because fear for Joanna blinded me.

"Joanna!" I cried, and would have moved to her side save that she held up a hand to halt me.

"Fear not for me, for I have seen what you are, and it comforts me. I am not sad, but blessed. Be still, Seeder, for I am content in your love. If you know it wasn't me that hurt Chaff, then I am content."

I think I saw Enobaria lift her head slightly at that last, and stare between Joanna and myself, but I paid her no mind. The inner core of foreboding, that terrible distress, had suddenly ebbed, but my own fear and friendship for Joanna kept me tense and afraid. "Be still," Joanna said again, harder, determined.

Then I heard footsteps.

Behind me.

I turned toward the sound, my heart thudding, and Hera's warning suddenly very much at the forefront of my mind. The footfalls approached steadily – yet with a deliberate slowness – from that part of the fog that overlay the raised pathway leading to Seeder's Dance. The archway under which I stood was the entrance archway into Seeder's Dance, and I should have been afraid, I should have been terrified, because whoever (whatever) made those footsteps would enter via this archway.

But someone spoke to me, I suppose it was either Enobaria or Joanna, and said, _Be still, Katniss_.

_This is not Coriolanus, nor Asterion. Be still. _My hand hovered over my womb, and I felt a sense of safety so consuming I relaxed, and let my fears slide away._ Not the god of poison. Not Asterion._

I straightened my shoulders, and lifted my chin, and waited.

* * *

When he – _they_ – walked out of the mist, I was not surprised.

It was like the stag man I had seen copulating with the women; same as that man, this one had the antlers tied to his head with thongs, and I knew instantly that they were both representations of Chaff.

Stags – Chaff's symbol.

He was a big man, older; beyond thirty-five, and in his arms he carried a child. A girl. She was ill looking; thin to the bone, shaking slightly, and half of her face was taken over by a pale pink birthmark.

And her eyes. Big, pale blue, iced over… and as she blinked, I knew she was blind.

The man stopped beside me, so close I could feel the heat from his naked body, and see the tangled mess of thin brown hair sticking to the girl's neck and face. Apart from her sickly appearance, the girl seemed like any other person from Panem, brown-skinned from the sun, features clearly native…

She eyed me, though I knew she could not see me. "Seeder is powerful within you," she said.

The man carrying her grunted in agreement.

The girl continued, "Yet how can you be, a stranger to this land? You draw us to you…"

The man grunted again, more moan, and his entire body trembled. He spoke then, voice deep and brutish, "If this had been another night, any other night, and she had danced for me like she just has, then I would have come gladly, and together we should have protected and increased the herd."

The girl rolled her eye; it seemed such a kid-like thing to do. I understood little of what the man said, and most of what I did understand made me uneasy of him. I did not feel any pull toward him as I had toward the last man who wore those same tied on antlers from the vision, nor did I think I should.

"Not tonight," the girl said. "Tonight is Chaff's night only. His resurrection amid the witch's death."

And suddenly, horribly, I knew why they were here.

Why Joanna was here.

The man snarled, unexpectedly, viciously, and I jumped back, putting a distance between us.

He did not notice. In a flurry of movement, so fast his form blurred, the stag man closed the distance between him and Joanna. I jerked, and cried out, and would have moved to aid Joanna, but just then I heard yet another footfall behind me, and there was Cinna. He had wrapped his arms tightly about me so that I could not move. "Leave it alone," he whispered softly in my ear. "This does not concern you."

I cried out, horrified for Joanna, but Cinna was too strong, and he raised one hand and clamped it over my mouth so that I could not even scream. All I could do was witness. All I could do was watch as..

The stag man had put the child down, and the girl stood tall, one hand resting on the man's shoulder, as he reached out and took Joanna's hair in a hand, and twisted it back so that her throat was exposed.

"Darkwitch!" he spat at her, but Joanna had eyes for no one but the blind girl at her side.

"I loved you, Twill," she whispered, her voice strained but nevertheless calm. "I love you still."

I gasped, realizing that this Twill was Joanna's daughter.

"Yet you destroyed the land," Twill murmured.

"It was not I," Joanna hissed, and I could see that she was finally afraid, and that she fought with herself not to struggle, to remain dignified. "I swear it to you. I did not break Chaff…"

"She lies," the stag-man said.

"Brutus," Twill said, calmly, and the man gritted his teeth, but nonetheless quieted.

Twill gestured to Brutus, then herself. "You can see that Chaff is split right here. I am part of what the Anointed Father should be, and Brutus, your brother, is the other half. He got what little your father had, and I have what was given to me by the curse you laid over Chaff that night when I was conceived…"

"I laid no curse!" Joanna snarled, but I could see she was surprised that Twill had named Brutus her brother and she eyed him more closely… and if I was correct, with more anger in her eyes.

"You did," Twill said, grim now. "What you did sickened this land, and has reduced Chaff to near nothing. Seeder is weak now, because of you… and because of you, your family all but died out."

"Except me," Brutus said. "And Twill. The last remaining of the family of the House of Seeder."

"So it is our duty to do this," Twill said. "It's time…"

Brutus grinned at that. "To break the enchantment of your darkcraft and restore to Chaff his potency!"

His stance changed, and where one moment he held Joanna's hair, he had her by the chest.

Joanna screamed, a thin high wail of absolute fear and torment.

Her daughter turned her head, and I caught a glimpse of her blood-covered face in the moonlight, before I looked again at Brutus, and saw one of Joanna's breasts, now hanging from her rib cage by only a thin rope of flesh. I gagged beneath Cinna's hand, but I could not look away.

"It is time your evil died, Joanna."

And then Brutus plunged his fist into her chest, shattering her ribs asunder.

* * *

Chaff, the white stag of the forest, already skeletal with loss of power (as skeletal as Twill), writhed in his death agony as Joanna's heart was torn from her chest. His own heart lay against the pure white of his coat, beating and throbbing in its extremity, and then as his daughter, and his power source, died, infinitely slowly the beating stopped, and the heart lay still. With her last scream, out rattled his breath.

With the stag's last breath, Chaff's crippled power vanished completely from the land.

* * *

Joanna's dead body flopped to the ground, her still heart lying exposed on her belly.

Brutus staggered back, his face a mask of terror and disbelief.

Shock rippled through the two standing before Joanna's body, sensing what happened.

"No! No!" Twill was crying out, Enobaria's shout of dismay intermingling with hers.

"_What have I done?"_ Brutus screamed, and I heard Cinna mutter darkly from behind me.

"_What have you done? What have you done?"_

There was a long, long silence, where I could do nothing but stare at Joanna's corpse, and I could feel nothing but the vise-like grip of Cinna's arms about me. Twill had begun to sob...

Then Enobaria said, in a very small voice, "This was not supposed to happen, Brutus… Twill. You were supposed to kill Joanna and her dark curse, not Chaff with her! He is gone! He is gone!"

* * *

"But not quite dead and gone yet," Seeder said within her stone hall.

Then, before it was too late and using most of the power remaining to her, she cast a spell-weaving over the corpse of the poor half-starved stag lying on the forest floor, and its heart gave a single faint beat – so faint it was barely a tremor – as it would beat just once a year from henceforth until…

"Until all has come to pass, and you have your replacement," Seeder said, missing Chaff already.

Then she fainted in her own extremity.

* * *

Cradled in sleep, wrapped in Clove's arms, watched by her appraising eyes, Woof, Anointed Father of Panem and one of _three_ representatives of Chaff (since both Twill and Brutus claimed a representation, too), suddenly screamed into wakefulness, hot torment coursing through his chest and brain.

He jerked upright, his hands clutching at the graying hair on his chest, his eyes starting almost out of their sockets, his mouth gaping in a rictus of agony. Clove moved away from his withering.

"Woof?" Clove said, her voice keen on a tone she'd practiced for this moment. "Woof?"

The man expelled a wheezing breath, his fingers still scrabbling in his chest hair, jerked in another breath, then howled in both pain and loss. "Woof!" Clove said again, louder and harder. "What?"

"Chaff is gone!" Woof managed to say. "Something terrible has happened!"

"What? Where? How?"

"I cannot tell —" Woof was about to say more, but then he howled in pain again, and his entire body stiffened and then jerked. He lay a long time, breathless, gray-skinned, sweating, as Clove whispered endearments and comforts to him, then, just before dawn, he whispered, "I am dying, my love Clove. All the life has been pulled from me. Maybe not today, or even next week, but death is close now."

Clove smiled on the inside. _Finally!_

"What can I do?" she said outwardly. "Oh, dear Woof! What can I do?"

He tried to smile for her, his beloved Clove, the Anointed Mother, so young for him, but that had so loved him and lifted his hand and grasped hers in a weak grip. "You have already done what was needed, beloved. Bringing to Panem's shores the Trojan magic. I will soon be gone, and Chaff's power is all lost. Twill and Brutus cannot replace me, or be what it is that this land needs. If Panem is to survive it will need the Trojan magic. Clove, I have doubted you before this moment, but now I can see that what you have done is truly for the best."

She smiled, pleased. She loved when things went exactly how she wanted.

"Of course it is, Woof. Of course I have. Sleep now. Rest."

When he finally did sleep, Clove lay back beside him and closed her eyes.

Inside, she seethed, both with triumph and with frustration.

Chaff was dead, as Clove knew he would be when Brutus murdered Joanna.

But where were Seeder and Hera? Clove had been certain the two women were lurking deep within Joanna's womb. While there had been a sudden drop in Seeder's power as Chaff died, there had been no cessation of it, as there surely should have been had Seeder been caught within Joanna's dying body.

Hera's had not died out yet, either.

Thus Hera and Seeder must still be alive somewhere else, albeit weakened beyond measure.

Clove sighed, putting the problem aside. In the end it was of little matter.

Seeder was essentially powerless without Chaff, and could do little to stop Clove now.

Alive or dead, Seeder was nothing.

Hera would die soon without Clove's influence; it was only the matter of finding her.

* * *

Someone else said something… Cinna did..? He'd let me go and moved closer to Twill and Brutus. "In Chaff's name," he said, staring at the two, whom were white and shaking. "What has happened here?"

Neither answered him. Brutus did not look as if he had even heard.

Cinna turned to Enobaria. "Enobaria? What has happened? Has Chaff's power been restored?"

She swallowed, and shook her head. Her skin was almost as pale and as clammy as Twill's.

Enobaria opened her mouth as if to answer, but before she could speak, Twill moaned pitifully through her sobbing, and fell to her knees beside Joanna's corpse. She had grabbed at Joanna's still, blood-clotted heart and tried with shaking hands to shove it back inside her chest… futilely, of course.

"What has happened?" Cinna shouted, the other's obvious distress terrifying him.

"Chaff was destroyed when Brutus killed Joanna," Twill said.

"I didn't know!" Brutus cried out. "I had no idea!"

"But Chaff's power was supposed to be restored when Brutus killed Joanna!" Cinna said, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Chaff's power could not have been destroyed. It could not have been! "Joanna's death was supposed to have shattered the darkcraft which had split Chaff's power. It was supposed to have done that and if not, it was not supposed to do any harm. Clove never —"

"Be quiet!" Brutus screamed, twisting about to face Cinna. He was holding his bloodied, trembling hands at chest height, his fingers curled into claws. "Be quiet! I am thinking!"

"Brutus," Twill said firmly. "You were not to know. Clove had told us…"

There was a long, horrified silence.

Brutus managed to get to his feet, his hands still held before his chest. "Clove," he said. "I must speak with Clove…"

Swift as a striking adder, Twill grabbed one of his wrists. "This was her doing, Brutus."

"No, no, it could not be…"

"This was her doing! She had no need of Chaff! She has her Peeta now; her Trojan magic. This was her doing, Brutus. Believe it. Believe me, do you not trust me beyond her? We are two of one whole."

"I must talk to her…there must be some reason…" His head was shaking, but his voice drifted off.

The two stared at each other, communicating somehow. I wondered how, for Twill was blind.

Suddenly, Brutus moaned, and said, "Oh, Twill, what have we done?"

"Listen to me, Brutus… Cinna, Enobaria…" Twill's unseeing eyes flitted between the three. "We can do nothing until we find out exactly what has happened, and what caused it. We watch and we learn. For the moment that can be our only course of action. We cannot jump so hastily into the unknown."

"Chaff is dead! How can we not?" Brutus said, his face a tragic mix of pain and horror. "I killed him!"

"You were the weapon which killed him," Twill said, "but you were not the hand that wielded it!"

"I have killed Chaff," Brutus said, the trembling of his hands now far worse.

Enobaria came over, and slapped him across the face, hard enough that Brutus rocked on his feet.

He stared at her with hard, renewed eyes, but Enobaria had no time for retaliation. "You go back to the Veiled Hills," she said, to both him and Twill. "Find out what you can, but tread lightly, for Seeder's sake if for no one else's! For the land. We must find out what is happening! We will take care of…"

I did not hear what she whispered at the end, for I felt I had heard enough of this madness. There was a terrible loss within me, for Joanna… for Chaff, though I did not know this god as they did…

Alone on my side of the circle, shaking, I turned and meant to run, but Twill raised a cry.

"Don't let her go! She knows too much!"

"No!" I raised my hands defensively, and backed away. "I… I..! Don't…"

Brutus already had me in his bloody hands. "Who are you anyway?" he said.

"She's Katniss, wife to the Trojan leader," Cinna murmured from where he was.

"Wife, huh?" Brutus' breath smelled of blood, and for one horrible moment I wondered if he'd ripped open Joanna's chest with his mouth… his teeth were stained with blood, and I wanted to gag. "Clove said no witnesses… and Twill… what shall we do if she runs back and tells her husband of this?"

"Kill her," Enobaria said.

Cinna lowered his head, and said, "Perhaps not. She's had many draughts of frenzy wine… if any god-favor is still with us then she will remember nothing by tomorrow. We could take her back, unharmed."

"If I do recall, I won't tell anyone what I saw," I said, trying to get my arm free of Brutus' hard grip.

"And why don't I believe that?" Brutus eyed me again, and I felt suddenly vulnerable with my nakedness. "I thought you had some connection to Seeder… you drew me to you with such strength…and I felt such…such…ah, I must have dreamed it. Trickery, was it? You feel so powerless now. Just an ordinary woman." He lifted his face to Twill. "Did you feel anything from her?"

"I felt something," Twill said, frowning, "but maybe it was just a passing phantasm. So much is wrong in our world that I think nothing can be trusted, not even our senses. There is nothing I can feel in her."

"Yet she danced Seeder's Nuptial Dance," Enobaria said.

"She did," Brutus said. "Joanna could have taught it to her."

"Perhaps," Cinna and Enobaria said at the same time, but neither of them sounded convinced.

Twill sighed, exhausted by the events of the night. "I suppose she shall have to remain a mystery to us. We can't risk her to tell the Trojans of what happened here… Clove was right about one thing. Witnesses will turn these Trojans against us faster than we could possibly think…"

I waited for Cinna to come to my defense, but he said nothing, looking away. Brutus breathed in excitement – apparently he liked killing, even though the tragedy of his last murder was still fresh.

Terror washed over me, and adrenaline pounded in my blood just as much as the frenzy wine. I struggled against his bloody grip, and was rewarded when his fingers slipped away. I scrambled to run, tripping over my feet, never stopping to regain balance, just pushing on, and on, Brutus hard after me.

I broke free of the circle, Seeder's Dance, pushing through the fog, into open air and the blast of cold sent a withering shiver through my body, and still I pushed on, my feet pounding on the grass, down the hill. I could see the village from where I ran, but I could also hear Brutus' panting near me, too near and…

…and he grabbed at me, and I abruptly I tripped over, and we rolled haphazardly down the side of the hill. My head hit the ground, hard, on each flip and my skin stung and cut and bruised as I tumbled, until we finally stopped at the bottom. There, I lay stunned for a moment, gasping to get air in my lungs… that would not be grasped. Brutus chuckled, slightly breathless, but less effected from the fall.

I tried to make myself move, to scream for help, or to sit up, and couldn't. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, reaching for my foot, grasping my ankle. I jerked my leg away, but he wouldn't let go. So I grabbed at the ground incoherently, reaching for a nearby stone, my pulse racing in my ears.

On the hilltop I heard Enobaria roar an encouragement.

Brutus' grip on my ankle tightened and, I sat up just enough to throw the stone in his face.

Brutus shouted and let go of my foot, slapping both hands over his face. I scrambled backward, panting, heart flying, desperately willing my throbbing ankle not to be broken. But when I tried to stand it wouldn't hold my weight. I fell to my knee and Brutus ripped me down onto my back by a calf.

I pushed off my unharmed foot, sliding backward, far away from Brutus… into strong, warm arms.

They wrapped around me from behind, and low in my ear, Darius whispered, "I've got you."

An instant later, we were no longer at the bottom of the hill. We were on the floor of the dome at the top of Mount Olympus and the last thing I'd seen was Enobaria flying down the hill to aid Brutus.

Darius squeezed me, then let me go, and I looked around at him. "Thanks. I owe you."

"Nah," he said. "You don't. I should not have led you into that." He sighed and then smiled, lifting his crippled leg slightly. "Now you've got a limp like me. Hold on a second. I'll be back with a healer."

Sure enough, Darius disappeared. I expected him back in a blink of an eye, like he usually was. That time however, minutes ticked by with no sign of him, and I began to grow uncomfortable, naked on the floor. I hobbled around looking for some type of coverage, a tapestry, a quilt, anything, with no results and finally I gave up, and sat at the bottom of one of the thrones, arms wrapped around my knees.

Darius came back, standing in the middle of the dome, and appeared to be struggling with another figure. "Come on! Just stay for a minute!" he said, pulling the person down by an arm and clinging.

"I have other duties, you know!" shouted the other, and her voice caused me to recognize her.

_Rue!_ The one who helped Peeta bring me back to life, within the stone hall. "Darius?" I said.

Both looked up. Rue's eyes widened at the sight of me. "Katniss? What are you… you're supposed to be with…" Abruptly, she whirled on Darius, and to my surprise, shoved him very hard in the chest; it was strange to see, with her so small and short, and him, much taller and older. Darius fell, but was on his feet again in a second, blinking in and out of existence for a matter of a time, to stand.

His face was livid. "What the fuck! You owe me, you know that! Pushing me around isn't helping you."

Rue took a bracelet off her wrist and flung it at him. "I don't need your stupid trinkets, not if it means I'll owe you for the rest of our immortal lives. And what do you think you're doing? Bringing _her_ here?"

"I'm sorry, is she claimed? I didn't know. Let me just put her back in the hands of the man who was trying to murder her… after all, I shouldn't meddle with other god's _property_…" He was seething.

_Property! _I was no one's property, not even my husband's. Not after I wiggled my way to freedom. The fact that they were even having this conversation in front of me made indignation spark in my chest.

"Put her back before Peeta knows she's been taken!" Rue hissed, unfazed by his sarcasm, or my glare.

"I was going to, but I was certain Peeta would notice her sprained ankle. Hence, I brought you here."

Rue frowned, eying him suspiciously, then she turned to me. She smiled. "Let me see this ankle."

I grudgingly let her heal me, watching her with hard eyes all the while. Something about her panic over me being away from Peeta made me feel uncertain about her and her motives. _Was she just afraid of what Peeta would do? Or was it something more than that? Why did she say "supposed to be with.."?_

By the time she healed me, I felt as good as I had the last time, and I stood perfectly fine. Physically.

Emotionally, all I could see when I closed my eyes was Joanna, heart ripped out, chest…

I shuddered, and I heard Rue apologizing to Darius. He gave her back the bracelet, muttering crudely, "You'll need this if you still want to be alive by next sunrise." Rue thanked him, meekly, putting it on.

"Goodbye, Katniss. It was good to see you again," said Rue, before she left.

"I'm sorry about that," Darius told me after she was gone.

My eyes still closed, still replaying the events of the night, I asked, "Is there anyway Rue can heal my friend… the one… back there?"

"No."

Somehow, I knew that and couldn't really feel any disappointment.

"What was that bracelet you gave Rue?"

"It's protection. Enchanted so that no other god… but me, of course, can find her wherever she is."

"Are there gods out there looking for her? Who want to hurt her?"

"Not if Thresh and I can help it. Do you want to know how she got her gift?"

I opened my eyes finally, and saw that he was crouched a few paces before me, his eyes a strange twilight of colors. Soft. Not intense. His hand was half extended to me, as if he thought to comfort me.

"How?" I asked, hugging my knees tighter to my chest, hiding my nakedness.

He noticed my unease, stood, and in his arms appeared an intricate robe; the colors were all bright and clashing, red and orange and scarlet, with a divine green slithering in the midst. I put it on when he offered it, and did not shrink away from him when he sat beside me, shoulders and hips brushing.

"She's too innocent to have killed anyone herself. But she became a member of the pact because of the injustice an Olympian god had once done her. They weren't all cruel, but the one she met had forced her into being his thrall and she had been a miserable slave for many years before we came upon her."

"We?" The story wasn't a nice one, no bright skies or stars, and the image of Rue in the same position my mother was in all her life made me upset, and unwilling to be angry or suspicious with her…

And at the very least the searingly painful images of Joanna's murder were fading to a dull ache of grief.

"We as in the original four of the rebellion; Thresh, Clove, Annie, and I. We were the starting few," he said, shrugging. "We each went around collecting those who would help our cause and who were able."

"What made the people able?" I asked.

"To have even the faintest drop of god's blood in your veins."

I looked at him curiously. "And which god's blood do you have?"

"Very little," he admitted, smiling faintly. "A drop of a demi-god's perhaps. All of us originals are not that strong in the blood… not the way Peeta is. Not the way…" he hesitated to name some others. "Others are," he decided on saying. "Actually, Annie has none. She was a water nymph before this."

"Is that why…?"

"Why she is not good at holding the power she has?" Darius finished, and he looked away. "Can't say."

I felt as though he was lying, but it didn't seem important to me at that time. So I pressed on.

"So Clove is related to Seeder? And you're related to a demi-god. What of Thresh?"

"He is… a mystery even to me. But I can tell you of Rue, wasn't that what we were talking about?" He smiled widely, amused, teasing, and continued to say, "Thresh was angered by Rue's treatment. To be honest, I think he thought of her as his kin… and who am I to say they aren't related? I can't know. Only that the instant he killed her captor, he killed another god and gifted Rue with that god's gift. She established a god well as soon as she could, and evermore since that moment Thresh has assured her safety in all the minor ways he can. Even going as far as commanding I make that silly 'trinket'."

That was all well and good, but, "Why would she need more protection if her captor is dead?"

Something passed over Darius' face, too fast for me to see. "You really are too clever to have around."

"I wouldn't be around if you didn't keep showing up and taking me," I pointed out.

"Should I have left you there, then? With that brute?"

"No, I'm not upset about that." I already thanked him, and refused to do it again. "But you never answered my question… is there a reason you fear for her safety? Are there… still Olympians about?"

He laughed. I hadn't known him more than a few days, and still, I knew it was off. "Well there is Hera, she's definitely still around. I've been protecting her, but she was already set to die from the moment Clove destroyed her god well. She's held on, but she's close now. Mere days." I could see he was changing the subject, just as much as I could see that he was uncertain about the new one. "When it happens… Prim will get what Clove wants… Hera's gift. Prim won't know, and it's my job to tell her, to help her create a power source… and then, eventually, a god well…" Each thing he listed came out hesitatingly. "I'll have to take her away, Katniss," he said, finally, and I leaned away from him.

"If you take her…" I tried to come up with an appropriate threat. They were too jumbled, and all I could feel was an opening hole inside of me; _if I lose Primrose… if I lose her… so soon after Joanna…_

He had tried to comfort me by distracting me, and now he told me I was about to lose my sister.

"I'm not taking her, because I want to. It's to protect her from Clove. She will notice. Clove will kill Prim if she stays. I'm not doing this to spite you. All of this has been arranged… for months. I've been assigned to recruit Prim as an Enlighten since Hera chose Prim. It's my job to recruit for our cause."

"Even if the people you're recruiting don't want to go?" I stood, suddenly seeing what he was saying. The Enlightened are less a pact, more of an army that Thresh, Annie, Darius, and Clove had built up. "I wonder how many wished to stay mortal and refused your promise of immortality… and you forced them to change and go through with the process of recruitment. Who wants to become a god just to abandon their old life? Who wants to become an Enlightened when all it really means is to be forced to be someone you're not? To have to desperately cling to a power that isn't even yours in the first place?" I imagined all those Clove recruited, all to her cause, like Peeta – who she corralled, seduced, whose father she murdered, just to get him out of there and where she wanted. I couldn't let Prim be that.

I already knew threats and violence and shouting did nothing to sway Darius. So, jumping to it, I went to my knees in front of the still sitting Darius and grabbed him by his wrists. "Don't recruit her."

He looked pained. "I can't just–"

"Don't recruit her. Tell them she won't be enough. Tell them it'll kill her. Tell them she'll be loyal to Clove. Tell them anything that will make them forget they even chose her. That Hera changed her mind… I don't care. You're not taking my sister. My king tried to take her from me, and Gale tried to, and Peeta tried to, and I'll be damned before I let you take her. If you refuse, I _will_ tell Peeta."

I wasn't quite pleading yet… but the threat tagged on the end did nothing to scare Darius.

"It's not a matter of telling someone something," he said. "Hera _has_ chosen Prim. I can't change that."

"Then let me talk to Hera, and I will change her mind. Choose anyone else!"

"There are limited pickings, Katniss." Darius was trying to placate me and I stood angrily, turning away. He tried to follow, the action awkward for once, his leg hindering him, and I harshly shrugged away his hand on my shoulder. "Who else is there? Hera helped us kill Zeus, and we owe her something for it. This is that something. We swore to give her power to someone of her picking, and she chose Primrose."

I remembered when Hera had visited me in my sleep, those two times. How can the goddess be so kind to me and give me warnings as to who is out there trying to harm me, but will be one to harm me by taking my sister anyway? I was frustrated, and still shaken with grief, and perhaps…I wasn't thinking.

I turned back to Darius and his face was relieved long enough for my words to come out, "You say I have Athena's blood," and his face changed to dread, as he knew where my thoughts were going.

"Yes," he said cautiously. "You do. I'm not sure where from. But it's there, and strong."

"And I could… I could become Enlightened?"

The cringe that crossed Darius' face reminded me vaguely of mine and Peeta's most recent conversation. _Don't make my mistake. _I wondered if this would be that mistake.

I wondered that if Peeta ever really did love me, he'd overlook this mistake.

_But it can't be a mistake._

_Not if it means protecting my sister._

"Can you get Hera to come here? Can I talk to her? If I convince her, will that be enough?"

Darius stared at me, face unreadable. "Not now. Later, perhaps. Tomorrow. I'll come to you then."

"You promise?" I demanded. I still didn't trust him, nor did I trust any god, really. Except maybe Seeder. "Do you promise to come before Hera's passing? That I _will_ see you again?"

A smile tugged at his lips, but barely broke through. He seemed grim. "We'll see more of each other."

With that, without him even touching me, I was swept away, and I found myself reeling outside Enobaria's hut.

Inside, I crawled undetected into Peeta's bed. He shifted, and pulled me into his chest, still asleep.

He never heard the soft apology I'd muttered to him that night.

* * *

"Joanna! Joanna is gone!"

Peeta lurched out of his sleep, his mind confused with dream and weariness. Beside him Katniss had sat up, the bedcovers clutched in her fists, her eyes wide and disoriented. For one moment he forgot last night; the drinking, the dancing, pulling her over to sleep together… then it all rushed back in.

They met eyes briefly, awkwardly, and just as quickly looked away.

Finnick stood by the central hearth of the house, his hair mussed, his chin stubbled, his entire stance taut with worry. "Joanna is gone!" he repeated to the awakening household.

"She has likely gone to the privy pit," Prim murmured, yawning and rubbing at her eyes with one hand.

"She is not there! I looked. She is nowhere in the village."

Prim's hand stilled.

Peeta looked at Finnick with a peculiar kind of intensity, as if the possibilities contained within the fact of Joanna's disappearance were only now occurring to him. "Move over," he said to Katniss, who drew up her knees and swiveled to one side so he could climb past her. The covers tangled in Peeta's legs as he tried to slide out of the bed, and he cursed and tugged hard enough at the blankets that he pulled them completely from the bed, leaving Katniss naked and shivering in the sudden cold.

Peeta tossed Katniss her robe, – he'd not remembered her going to bed naked, _how much wine had he and her consumed? _– and pulled his own tunic quickly over his head, belting it as he slid on his shoes.

He grabbed his cloak, and looked about the house.

Everyone was accounted for: Cinna and his companions, Deimas and Marvel – now also out of bed and dressing – and Primrose and the babies, the two Trojan warriors who accompanied them, and Enobaria and the members of her household.

"Cinna?" said Peeta, buckling his scabbard belt to his hips.

Cinna, sliding from Enobaria's bed himself, shrugged. "I have no idea," he said.

Peeta looked at the Mother. "Enobaria?"

She also shrugged. "How would I know? The woman hardly spoke to me. She is a stranger. I cannot tell her mind."

Peeta studied her, hating her words. If Joanna did not speak, then it was because she had been made to feel wholly unwelcome within Enobaria's house.

He was also vaguely disturbed by Enobaria's lack of care. She seemed completely unperturbed about Joanna's disappearance when on two counts she should have been at least mildly worried: firstly, her ability as a Mother would be seriously called into question if a guest of hers had come to harm under her roof (but would that truly matter if the guest in question was the hated Joanna?), and secondly, as the head of her household and the village, Enobaria should at the very least be slightly anxious that a stranger was wandering around unsupervised. Especially if that stranger was the hated Joanna.

"We will need to search for her," Peeta said, finally taking his eyes off Enobaria. "Deimas, Marvel, take our men and search the village. Finnick, you and I will take Flavius and Bladid and search the surrounding fields. Cinna." Peeta paused, and gave Cinna a hard glance as well; the man had such a bland face on him that Peeta wondered if he was hiding something. "Cinna, you come with me."

"We should try the Stone Dance," Finnick said. He was shifting from foot to foot, almost twitching with impatience and dread. "Joanna talked of it yesterday. Perhaps she was drawn there last night."

"Perhaps," said Peeta, sending Enobaria one more speculative look, then he motioned to the other men, and they left the house. As soon as the last man had gone, Enobaria looked over to Katniss, hateful.

Katniss hardened her face, and stepped away from the bed, almost tripping over the blankets Peeta had left tangled on the floor. She went to sit beside the Mother – certain there was no threat with so many still in the hut. She said in Enobaria's ear, "Don't think you are safe just because I do not tell them."

Enobaria's mouth hardened into a thin line. "Neither are you, wife." _Neither are you._

* * *

They found her almost immediately. There was little to search in the village that Finnick had not already checked, and so Deimas and Marvel, and the two other Trojans rejoined Peeta, Finnick, and Cinna just as they approached the Stone Dance… that was some distance to the village.

They knew even before they entered the circles: crows and ravens were heaped in a squawking, heaving mass of feathers, wings, and flashing beaks on the far side of the Dance.

Finnick gave a ghastly cry, and ran toward the birds before Peeta could stop him. As soon as he arrived to within two paces of the shuffling mass of birds, Finnick threw himself at them, shouting madly.

They erupted in a dusty, foul-smelling cloud of black feathers and flew off, screeching in disgust at the interruption.

As they lifted away, Finnick gave one long, despairing cry and sank to his knees, his hands to his face.

When Peeta reached his side, he took one look, then turned aside his head, swallowing.

Even his battle experience had not prepared him for this.

What was left of Joanna lay by one of the stone uprights; it was a hideous, twisted mess of blood and flesh. The birds' feeding had damaged her, but even so it was clear enough what had been done to her before the ravens had descended.

Her left breast had been ripped almost from her body, its flesh mangled as if it had been chewed.

Her heart lay exposed, half out of her chest…

…and in the clotted blood that covered it Peeta could clearly see the finger marks of her murderer.

Finnick was wordless, furious and grief-stricken in one, seeing his friend that way, one hand now patting at the air above Joanna's corpse as if he wanted to touch her, but did not dare to.

Deimas, glancing at Peeta who stood staring at Joanna with anger so deep it seemed quite possible that he'd take his sword to the stone as a revenge for Joanna's murder, squatted down by Finnick, and put his arms about him. He hugged Finnick tightly, murmuring words of comfort. Marvel rolled his eyes.

Peeta took a very deep breath, then looked at Cinna who had stopped a little distance away.

The honey-tongued man's face had not altered from its carefully composed blandness.

"Who did this to her?" said Peeta. "Who, Cinna? No one hated Joanna this much save for your people!"

"Take your hand from your sword, Peeta," Cinna said. "No one from among my men or this village did this to her! If Joanna died here, and in this manner, then it was the work of gods, not of man."

"Do gods have murdering fingers?" Peeta shouted, jabbing his hand at the marks about Joanna's heart. "Damn you and your dark gods, Cinna! Joanna was a woman innocent of any wrongdoing! Do not blame her for the split in Chaff's power, for she was a victim as much as this blighted land of yours!"

Cinna's face had lost some of its composure, but the fact that Peeta could still see no sympathy or understanding there drove him even deeper into anger. "Do you know what she told me, Cinna? Do you? She said that she was a terrified thirteen-year-old girl, raped by her father and with no more ability to weave darkcraft than she could command the tide to retreat. Someone had cast that darkcraft, Cinna, but it was not her." Peeta flung his hand at Joanna's corpse again. "It was never her."

Something shifted in Cinna's eyes, an uncertainty perhaps, but it did not reflect in his voice. "She had no right talking to you of matters that did not –"

"She had every right, Cinna! Every right! She was terrified… she knew she had come home to die. All she wanted" – Peeta's voice dropped, now soft in its disgust – "was for someone to believe in her."

He turned away, and dropped down by Finnick, leaving Cinna staring at him in sudden horror.

* * *

They carried Joanna's corpse back to the village, a silent line of men wrapped either in thought or in grief, and into Enobaria's house. Inside, Enobaria exchanged a quick, knowing look with Cinna, then took charge. "Katniss, Primrose, my daughters, and I will wash and tend her," she said, brushing the men out of the hut, "while you men build a funerary pyre. Go now, and leave women to tend to women."

Peeta nodded, grateful to hand the horrible corpse over to Enobaria, then he saw Katniss' pale and hardened face; she also looked as though she'd be sick. "Katniss? Are you well?"

"How can I be well, when I have lost another friend of mine. Go now. Leave us be."

As Peeta turned away, dejected, wanting to comfort her, but now knowing how, he saw Cinna catch Katniss' eye, and saw the mixture of anger, betrayal, regret, and much more flash between the two.

Frenzy wine or not, Katniss remembered.

* * *

The women took the entire morning to wash Joanna clean, stitch her wounds, and wind her in her shroud. Their work was done in silence, save for the odd query regarding their hideous handiwork.

Enobaria shot Katniss many a dark look, but Katniss was stubborn and refused to catch her eye, and Enobaria could not talk to the woman with Primrose or her daughters present. _Later…_

At noon, Joanna's body tended, they called in two of the men to carry her out to the funerary pyre.

* * *

The flames caught, snapping and twisting at the base of the huge pile of wood and brush on which Joanna lay. Finnick knelt in the dirt a few paces distant, his face twisted into tearless grief, his hands held out, reaching for something that was no longer there. Everyone else – Enobaria and her family, the villagers, the Trojans (all of Peeta's party), and Cinna, Bladid, and Flavius – stood about in a circle.

After a word with Cinna, Enobaria had seen to it that Katniss stood distant from Peeta or any other Trojan, and that Cinna stood next to her in their place. Even Primrose was too far off to overhear.

"Katniss," Cinna said softly, his eyes remaining steady on the now-flaming pyre.

She did not answer.

"Katniss," he said again. "I am sorry that you are fearful."

Katniss scoffed.

"I am sorry… for what you saw."

"You stopped me from aiding her."

Her voice was flat, toneless, yet carried many layers of accusation within it.

"If you had gone to her then you, too, would have died."

"I would have helped her… and I cannot believe that you could have abetted such a cruel death." Her voice became harsh, horrible. "I cannot believe that I thought us friends, that I trusted you – "

"Katniss!" Cinna hissed. "Keep your voice down! Do you think that Peeta will thank you now if he finds out you witnessed Joanna's death? What will he think if he knows you kept a silent tongue in your head for all this long morning? You should have told earlier. Now it is too late, without suspect."

Katniss said nothing, but from the corner of his eye, saw that she sent an uncertain glance Peeta's way.

"Joanna knew she came home to her death," he continued, his own voice calmer now. "She knew it, and I think that you knew it, too, even if she had not put her knowledge into words for you. There is… there is a treachery going on about us, Katniss. Joanna's death was a part of that treachery…"

"And yet you allowed it to happen! You were going to let them kill me. You spoke none for me."

He lowered his head. "And that I regret. I am overjoyed to see you alive, but if I'd spoken against Brutus, or even Enobaria, they would have killed me, too. Twill's too young to see most reason. I'm willing to stand up now… I followed blindly before and was burned. Then I did not know what I do now. Katniss, there are things you need to see, and words you need to hear, but I am not the one to –"

"Not that Brutus, surely!"

She had turned to face him now, her eyes furious and, even if she didn't want to admit, slightly afraid, and Cinna cursed silently, knowing that her movement had made Peeta turn his eyes their way.

"You need to know why Joanna died," he said, staring fixedly at the fire and talking through lips that barely moved. "You need to know who killed her. How this played out, against us…"

"Brutus killed her!"

"No," Cinna said. "Brutus is a brute, yes, but he was tricked. Just as much as I."

"By whom?"

"Clove."

In that moment Katniss sized Cinna up, and the truth in his face calmed her some.

_We were both tricked, _she thought, then Katniss looked over at Peeta, whom was still watching them, then she lowered her eyes, and said no more than this, "Maybe. Maybe I'll hear what you have to say."

* * *

When the pyre had burned completely, and Finnick, stone-faced, gathered the ashes into an urn, Cinna moved away from his spot, shaking off Katniss' reaction and words, to speak with Enobaria.

He slipped into his honey voice, and put on a mask. And prepared himself for lies.

"I do not think Katniss will talk, not to Peeta. She is too frightened."

_Though she's as far from frightened as one would think. It is a wonder how she got away last night…_

"Watch her. I do not know what to make of her. I still do not truly know why she came to Seeder's Dance in the first instance, nor how she knew how to dance Seeder's Nuptial Dance with Joanna. As Twill said, she is a mystery, and in these dark blighted days I find that mysteries unnerve me. "

Cinna could see that Peeta, at Finnick's side, was still watching him, and he knew he could not afford to spend too long whispering with Enobaria. Whispering with Katniss already made the man upset…

"Mother Enobaria, there is something I think you should know."

"Yes?"

"Peeta said something to me that made me think." He was putting his best persuasion into this. "Enobaria, I cannot explain it, nor justify what I am about to say, but I think that perhaps Clove was the one to cast that darkcraft over Chaff. Joanna was blameless, a victim, just as Chaff himself has been."

"Cinna –"

"I have stood here all through this afternoon, watching Joanna's body burn, and thought about it. Enobaria, we have no time to talk of this now, but think on this: you agreed last night that Brutus and Twill's manipulation and Chaff's death was Clove's doing. I think you're right. Moreover, I think that all the darkcraft which blights the land are of her working. Anointed Mother? Nay, I think not. Darkwitch indeed. She swooped in once Joanna's family fell ill, how can that not be strange?"

Enobaria's face had gone hard, but Cinna was striding away before she could speak, and despite all her efforts, there was no opportunity to talk privately with him again before his party left the next morning.

* * *

"You knew that killing Joanna would draw Chaff to his final death!"

Clove raised her eyebrows, not looking at Brutus, as if disinterested. They were walking – rather, Clove was walking with smooth graceful strides and a haggard-faced and patently furious Brutus was progressing in a jerky gait at her side, Twill stumbling beside him — through the meadowland that divided two of the Veiled Hills. The two had only just arrived from Seeder's Dance, their bodies and hip wraps stinking of travel-sweat, and had accosted Clove on her daily walk among the sacred hills.

"You told me that in murdering my mother Chaff's power would be restored!" said Twill.

"Did I?"

"You said – "

Clove stopped, and rounded on them, irritated with their naive stupidity. "And you listened, you fools! The only thought _you_ had was for power and the only tool _you_ used to think with was _this_!" She grabbed at Brutus' genitals through the soft material of his wrap, and he jerked back before she could bruise him too badly. Then, to Twill, she snapped, "You, stupid child, should never trust this fool."

"You knew what would happen?" Brutus had accused her, but had not thought she would admit to it.

"Yes." Clove resumed walking.

Brutus stared after her, but Twill ran, stumbling, furious, to catch up. "By Chaff, Clove, why? _Why?"_

"Because Chaff was useless. He needed to be replaced."

"With Peeta?"

"With what Peeta can offer, yes."

"How long have you planned this? What else have you done?"

"Enough, girl. Now stop whining. I can ensure you both a good enough place in –"

"No! No! I will go before the Assembly of the Mothers, Clove, and tell them what you have done!"

She turned on her heel and grabbed Twill's small chin in one strong hand. "You will not do so. If you open your whining mouth to anyone else I will personally tell not only the Anointed Father, but the entire Assembly and through them all Panem that you and Brutus were the ones who killed Chaff." Her upper lip curled. "Like mother, like daughter, after all. They will believe me, Twill. Not you."

"We were only the weapon," Twill said, wrenching her chin free. "Not the hand of the murderer."

Clove laughed softly. "How sweet. Who gave you those words, then? Cinna? He has always a way of putting things… or perhaps Enobaria? I can't imagine you coming up with that concept by yourself."

She flushed, humiliated even if she'd thought of it herself. "Then why not kill us, too?"

"Because, my dear girl" — Clove patted her on the cheek — "I may yet have a use for you two."

"Darkwitch!"

Clove finally lost her temper. "And what of it? What I do, I do for this land! I have wanted this land the moment Seeder was chosen to be its mother and Chaff the father. It was supposed to be _mine!_ And now I have taken matters into my own hands. Panem will be mine soon enough. Seeder and Chaff were old, useless, and this land was failing by degrees anyway by the time I came back to steal it. I may not have woven the darkcraft of your birth, Twill, but I have progressed that glancing blow into a final strike. If I replace them, then I replace them with strength so that this land may flower in the sun again!"

She paused, her breasts heaving with emotion.

"I love this land and its people as much as you do, Twill. Believe that! What I do, I do for Panem."

"What you do," Twill hissed, "you do for your own gain only."

Twill backed away a step, then another, her mouth — her entire face — snarling. "I will destroy you!"

Clove reacted as she would to any misbehaving child. With a swift hand to shut that small mouth.

Before Clove's hand could actually strike Twill – and since Twill was blind and did not see the action coming – Brutus came forward for the first time and knocked Clove's hand away, almost lazily.

"You think to humiliate us and disregard us, as well as our gods, but you will learn soon enough."

"You are too late," Clove said to him, haughtily, turning her back to the two. "There is no weapon left."

* * *

Darius came to me as promised, the day after Joanna's death, very late into the afternoon.

We'd stopped in another nearby village to rest that night. I'd been laughing – forcing the laughter, since I could not truly shake away the memories of what had happened concerning Joanna, nor a grief in me for the god Chaff, as well as, most intensely, a fear in me for the loss of Primrose – with my son, as he delighted in the fact that I was tickling his smooth, pale stomach. When suddenly a tall shadow fell over us, coming out of nowhere, the laughter on my lips breaking off oddly and dying.

I looked up to find Darius there, expression grim.

"Now?" I asked, glancing at the close by Primrose and Aurora, and then the more distant men.

"Now or never."

Kissing Achates' face excessively, I walked over to Prim, and layed him in the grass beside Aurora. She looked up, curious – she had gotten used to the act of me giving her Achates when I went off. I smiled at her and told her that I would be back soon, and if I wasn't not to worry, and to cover for me.

"Hurry home," she said, tucking the babies close. The term home was irrelevant. This land, Panem, was most definitely my homeland, but my home would always be her, and those two little ones she held.

I would most definitely return home.

Instead of walking off to the woods, Darius led me into the village, around the back of a hut. Last time I'd seen him he'd sent me home without even a touch of his hand. That time his fingers slid into mine and held, his palm radiating that unusual heat that fell off of him. "We're going far today," he said.

Next I knew the world spun. Colors threw themselves at me, until I closed my eyes shut just to keep myself from vomiting. Darius' grip on my hand tightened, and impossibly, the rushing feeling intensified. I wasn't sure if I'd lost all my organs or if they were all gathered at my feet.

"Okay," Darius abruptly said. "We're here."

Breathing in deeply, I'd hoped to settle my withering stomach, but it did the exact opposite. Something foul and rotten hung in the air and I choked on my breath, gagging. Darius' hand still in mine squeezed.

_In reassurance? Or sympathy?_

"For the record, I didn't want to bring you here," he murmured.

As I took in our surroundings, I knew why he hadn't. "Where is this?"

"Hera's realm. With her, it dies." He paused. "It'll become something new when she's replaced."

Once, I could see that this place would have been beautiful. It was neither outside, nor inside, where elaborately mural-covered walls met trees and the edges were so overrun with shock white ivy leaves you could not see where one ended and the next began. Beds of grass and flowers ran in patterns with canopies of silk, all pale lavender in color, and with short lengths of white marble flooring.

Yet, the flowers were crumpled and colorless. The ivy withered and fell away to revel rotting trees and chipped murals. Cracks ran through the marble, revealing only blackness between them. I stepped around these cracks with care, remembering the cracks that had consumed Mesopotamia.

Overhead was open sky, roiled with low-hanging gray clouds, sickly, filling the air with foulness.

"Where is she?" I asked, peering around broken fountains and crumbled statues.

"This way," Darius said, and tugged on my hand to guide me to the left.

We walked for some time, weaving through the dying realm. Technically speaking, the place had been Hera's home. It was her sanctuary, her own separate plane that no other god could claim. The same way the stone hall with the archways was Seeder's. And now, the dome of Mount Olympus was Darius'.

Fleetingly, I wondered where Peeta's was, and what it looked like.

Then I pushed Peeta out of my head; I could not think of him. I could not even think of Joanna. I had to think about Hera, and how I could convince her I would make a better replacement than Primrose.

When we finally came upon her, I, at first, did not realize why Darius had stopped. I saw only a slumped shadow under a frail, leave-less tree. In the branches a crow sat, scrutinizing Darius and I.

"Katniss," the shape said, stirring, and I saw what once was a regal, solemn woman, was nothing more than decaying skin stretched over thin bones, her clothes no more than faded peacock feathers.

I was at loss for words, and thankfully, Darius stepped in. "She has come to discuss Primrose."

"Ah, one of my four children," she said, and her admitting to being Primrose's mother finally made that feel _true_. I knew her three others; there was Hephaestus (which Darius has already killed), and then Ares and Hebe. I wondered if the last two were also replaced, but I didn't care very much about that.

"I understand that you have requested her to be your replacement," I began, straightening, and (after realizing I had yet to drop his hand) shook of Darius' hold. "I have come to offer you a deal, of sorts."

"A deal?" Hera shook her head, weakly. "No." Her voice was hoarse. "It can only be her."

"Why not me? I have a goddess' blood in me," I said. "You have always been my deity."

Hera eyed me, as if she couldn't decide I had too much nerve, or if she wanted to let me down easy. I suspected a lot of changes happened in many of the Olympian gods' personalities near the end. Hers, from the tales, always seemed to peg her with jealousy, and with a will to hold any grudge.

Now, she seemed beaten, downtrodden.

"You're right," she said, matter of fact. "You do have goddess blood. But not mine."

Frustration prickled at the tips of my fingers. "Does that matter, truly?"

"To me, yes."

"You have a different path to take than Primrose," said Hera.

I refused to believe that. "She is more than a sister to me. She is my princess. She is my only family, and I do not mean to let her be dragged into this Enlightened and Olympian mess. If you truly cared for her at all, as a human or as a daughter – as you seem so keen on calling her yours – you'd leave her be."

"Thresh is ruthless," Hear abruptly said, her eyes narrowing. "Some would say Zeus was even more ruthless. In different ways they are both... careless, cruel, and where I had tried to be _something_ as a queen of gods, I failed more than I would like to admit. The Olympians failed because we turned on each other, and let the enemy catch us off guard. Enlightened are already fighting like starving dogs over a bloody steak. How long will _they_ last? I don't like the fact that they have won, but I know when to accept reality and use what little freedom there is for advantages. Maneuvering it so Primrose becomes the Enlightened queen is both for the smug satisfaction it gives me to see one of my offspring on a throne, still, while Zeus' majority are dead, and also because she is what they need as queen."

"She could have barely managed being queen in Mesopotamia!" I burst before I considered the insult it meant to Primrose. "Let alone of the gods!" Truthfully, I just didn't want her to undergo the stress of those positions. She was too delicate. She deserved freedom and happiness and life, not strain and responsibility. Those were supposed to my burdens.

"It will happen no matter what you say, Katniss."

I referred back to Hera's earlier statement; using what little freedom there is for advantages, especially in an inevitable situation. If I couldn't stop it from happening, then I at least had to keep the happening near. "Alright," I said, cautiously. "If it does happen, if she accepts your gift... don't take her away."

"You will risk her being near Clove?" Hera asked, looking intrigued by that twist.

"In my mind, Prim being closer to me is always safer."

Hera shrugged, suddenly not so intrigued. "It is up to Darius, not me. So long as she is my heir."

I turned on Darius, feeling my hope rise. "Keep her close. Don't take her away. Teach her what she needs to know to control and cultivate her powers while still in Panem. You can do that, can't you?"

Nothing but the thinning of his lips showed he'd been taken by surprise. "It'll be risky."

"I'll be there. I'll be watching Clove. Between you and I, no one will touch Prim. Peeta –"

"Do not involve him," Hera spoke out. "Peeta must stay off your path."

I puzzled myself over that for a moment, forgetting Darius and the argument. "Have we not been on the same path since the day he'd forced me into marrying him? When you gave him to me to protect."

"Seeder mostly gave him to you. She has plans. Ambitious ones. Mine are smaller." Hera smiled, and though she was filthy and half-dead, it was still elegant. "Mine includes pieces of Athena's plans, too."

The mention of Athena made me uncertain. "What of Athena?"

"Only that you were born to be a warrior, not a queen, Katniss."

"Does this have something to do with you telling me to lead wars?" I asked.

Hera's smile grew. "Aye. The wars are coming."

"War_s_? As in, more than one? Don't I have enough problems as it is?"

"You have not even stepped onto your path yet. Your beginning is just starting."

I was _starting_ to get tired of her cryptic replies. "If my path is not with Prim, nor Peeta, _where is it?_"

"In the mortal realm, mostly," said Hera, unfazed by my annoyance. "Word of advice?"

"Please," I said, lofty sarcasm in my tone.

"Be wary of who your real enemies are. Sometimes, it's hard to know which is friend and which foe."

Darius stepped forward then, breaking the stare I'd been holding with Hera for the past few minutes. He nodded in Hera's direction, dismissing her I realized in shock, then turned to me. "We have to get you back. Prim is having a hard time convincing the others you went for a walk to clear your head."

"Alright," I said, and threw out my hand for him to take. He did, turning me away from Hera.

We were several feet away when a question I wanted to ask struck me. I turned back.

"Hera?"

"Yes?"

"You warned me against Coriolanus, the god of poison."

"I did."

"What connection does he have to Asterion?"

The mention of the Minotaur made Darius' hand in mine twitch, and Hera frowned.

"None," said Hera. "That I know of. Asterion was killed by Theseus."

"And Coriolanus lives?"

"He was banished into a mortal body, far from Greece, by Zeus. But, yes. He lives."

"And he'll hunt?" I struggled to remember her exact words. "He'll hunt for me?"

Hera hesitated, looking confused herself.

"You called him the Throned one. The Rose," I reminded her.

For a second, she looked _lost_. Like she forgot who I was. Then she spoke.

"Perhaps I was wrong," she said, softly, her eyes far off. "Perhaps I meant to say, the Horned one."

Frustrated, I asked, "Who is it then? Should I fear Asterion or Coriolanus?"

"Like I told you," Hera said, eyes focusing on me again. "Be wary of who your real enemies are."

* * *

Back in the mortal realm, matters were still not resolved in the matter of Primrose, but Darius insisted we could discuss the matter at another time. He had to get me back, or Peeta would not be happy.

Sure enough, when I emerged from the woods, the whole village had been in search of me.

Marvel scolded me for leaving, so soon after Joanna, and he reminded me of the last time I wandered off on my own. I stood through that, too busy fuming over Hera to really hear him, or Peeta, or Finnick.

As soon as they settled down, I went to the hut, sat on the edge of my bed and called out for Darius.

He came, of course, in the matter of a second.

"Will you do it?" I demanded, wanting to get to the point. "Will you recruit Prim, but keep her here?"

His expression gave nothing away as he thought; eyes a strange burgundy. "We can _try_..."

"It'll work, then?"

"Not in the way you will like, I don't think. If I'm supposed to be both teaching her and protecting her, then I'll need to actually be here. I can't sneak around like I do with you" – the wording of that seemed heavily open for misinterpretation and I had an urge to correct the wording, but managed to keep my mouth shut to hear the rest of what he had to say – "and so I'll have to work out a way to do that."

"Like, become a part of the household?" I thought for a moment. "Lavinia never was replaced."

Darius made a face. "No thanks. I don't want to be your two's maid. I'll figure something out. Just don't look like you know me if I pop up anywhere, all right? We don't want Clove _or_ Peeta catching on."

"I understand."

He turned to go, and I waited for him to dissipate from sight... and he hesitated.

"Katniss, what was all that talk with Hera, about Coriolanus and Asterion and wars?"

I sighed. "I really don't know."

"I don't know much about Coriolanus or Asterion," he admitted, his voice pensive. "But I do know a thing or two about wars," and at that he lifted his crippled leg. "Be careful, is all I ask." He left.

It never occurred to me that Darius could have had his leg injury before he even became a god. I'd somehow assumed that because the god he killed had originally been crippled, that Darius somehow inherited the same defect by taking the god's gift. Of course that was completely inaccurate.

Strangely, it reminded me of what Peeta had said. They had practically told me the same thing: _Don't make my mistake. _Hera prevented me from making Peeta's – _today_. I wasn't Enlightened, and so I had refrained from letting at least Peeta down. But how long until I forget to be careful?

How long until emotion and instinct overrode caution?

For the rest of that day, I sat there, turning Hera's words over and over in my mind.

* * *

**Six Days Later**

On the morning of the sixth day after they'd left Enobaria's village, Cinna led the traveling party into a wide valley, which, even despite the occasional evidence of blight, seemed rich and fertile.

Here fields and graveled pathways stretched in every direction, their boundaries marked with ditches and well-tended hedges. Even now, in the early autumn, it was easy to see that this was a fruitful land: there were numerous flocks of sheep, cattle, pigs, and goats as well as great gaggles of geese and poultry feeding along the stream and river meadows.

In some fields there were still men and women harvesting late grain crops; again, while blight had left some coarse and thin patches within the crops, in most of the crops the stalks crowded thick and tall, their grain heads heavy and generous.

Here, unlike the relatively sparse lands they passed through from the River Dart, villages and farming communities were dotted at regular intervals, surrounded with their own intricate web of fields and pathways. There were orchards and well-tended herb gardens, as also carefully managed coppices and lightly wooded areas where wild boar and deer roamed.

Roads wove their sinuous way through all this abundance, their surfaces carefully leveled and graveled for wheeled traffic.

It was a countryside richer than Peeta could ever have imagined. In the lands in which he'd been born and spent his life hitherto, the thinness of the soils meant sparse fields and even sparser crops. He had never seen such an intensity of agriculture, nor such an easy wealth of food.

_Gods, if this land was not at its best, then how remarkable must it be when it was whole!_

Even with the weight of Clove's betrayals of Katniss on his shoulders, and Joanna's suspicious death, Peeta knew he had to play carefully in the game of gods from that moment on. He had to be open to Clove, but not too open, (and not too vague or distant) and he had to start contacting Annie again… and Delly, certainly, if he meant what he said to Katniss about making his own allies and alliances to protect himself against Clove once he finally tore away from her and her treacherous plots.

It sounded so simple to do – but in reality it would be grueling, if not near-fatal.

So much was un-level ground, and he did not know where to step.

Only that he hoped he was walking toward Katniss.

Shaking himself, Peeta rode his horse up level with Cinna's, and nodded at the surrounding countryside. "This is a good place," he said, and he waited for Cinna to agree with him.

Cinna and he had ridden in silence for two days after leaving Enobaria's village, and had then come to a silent agreement to clothe their disagreements with politeness. Since then their relationship had been cool but not hostile, and Peeta admitted it had more to do with the fact that Katniss now disliked Cinna.

Despite the thawing in his personal relationship with the man on the principal that Katniss now seemed to distance herself from him – after it seemed all she wanted to do was hear Cinna talk on the first days of their journey–, Peeta kept a close and somewhat suspicious watch over Cinna's dealings with Katniss. That there were few to none only increased Peeta's suspicions. The fact that now they didn't want anything to do with each other clued Peeta in that something had happened, and Peeta wished he knew what it was. Asking her would be a mistake, he knew, not wanting to be seen as jealous…

Asking him seemed worse.

So all he could do was watch, and torment himself on what it could have been.

(And torment himself over that dance, and the fact that Katniss might do something dangerous when she attacked Clove, or that Katniss might get _hurt_, attacking Clove… and worse, he tormented himself over their talk in the woods – not only feeling guilty from not protecting her from Clove's trickery – but over the fact that someone had been there, without his knowledge, talking with her… and could be talking with her at any time, any place, or all the time, in all the places… but whom could it be?)

"A good place?" Cinna said, glancing at Peeta and snapping him out of his tortured circles, then smiling to himself as he recognized Peeta's admiration of the countryside. "This is the valley of Pan, the river you see there," he said, nodding forward to where Peeta could see a very faint wide expanse of silver, "but it is only the beginning of Panem's wealth. From here to the north, and to the southeast, stretches some of the most wondrous land in this island. Seeder and… Chaff have blessed us indeed."

"The Pan is close?"

"We will reach it this evening."

"And the Veiled Hills?"

"Are on the northern bank of the Pan. Whether you see them or not depends on the Anointed Mother and Father's goodwill."

"When will I see them?"

"When you are settled this evening, I will send word. Then you will wait."

Finally, their journey was coming to end. Those days on ship seemed eons ago.

Peeta nodded to Cinna, lapsing back into silence as he thought, lost again in tortured circles.

When it all came down to it, he needed a god well.

Once he had that, he felt certain he could protect Katniss from anything.


End file.
